


The Time of My Life

by StormDancer



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Dirty Dancing AU, Excessive use of montages, M/M, Not Hockey Players (Hockey RPF), Pining, Romantic Comedy, Secret Relationship, Summer Love, That went pretty far afield from dirty dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-12 10:30:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 48,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18009257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDancer/pseuds/StormDancer
Summary: Gabe arrives at Rumble Mountain Resort & Spa expecting to do his job and do it well, then leave after the on site requirements are over, like he always does.He doesn’t expect Tyson.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the Dirty Dancing AU, which got pretty far away from Dirty Dancing! As a warning, I know nothing about: the inner workings of resorts, Vancouver Island, consulting, or these people qua people. Any villainization is purely the product of what I need for plot and does not reflect any knowledge or insinuations on the real person. 
> 
> Posting schedule: the fic is complete at 6 chapters, and will post every 3 days, so the next chapter will be up on Friday, March 8th.

Gabe’s first thought as the island comes into view is that it’s the sort of green he usually associates with movies—gorgeous but somehow unreal.

Gabe’s second thought, as the ferry putters along, is that it’s probably inconvenient. He’s not sure, of course—Tofino, the closest town, apparently doesn’t have a real airport, but one could drive from Victoria or fly from Vancouver, except that apparently it was important to get the full experience. And that was taking the ferry across…whatever body of water they were on, Gabe wasn’t sure, and being on a boat with sea air in his hair.

“I still think we should have flown,” EJ says, echoing Gabe’s thoughts as he comes up next to him at the rail of the boat. He’s looking a little green; boats apparently don’t agree with him.

“You don’t enjoy the sea air?” Gabe asks, grinning at him as he inhales deeply. It tastes of salt and freshness, even though objectively they’re not far from cities.

“No,” EJ scowls. He’s been grumpy since they flew in; Gabe’s pretty sure he’s just not over the jetlag yet. He’d been pretty excited about this assignment before they left London. “Or I’ll enjoy it on shore.”

“Aw, it’ll be okay.” Gabe claps him on the shoulder. “Just imagine you’re on horseback.”

“Being on horseback is nothing like this,” EJ mutters, and clenches his hands around the railing. “How much longer do we have?”

“Fifteen minutes, I think.” Gabe’s still looking out at the green. “Gonna survive?”

“No,” EJ tells him. “I’m going right to the spa. There is a spa, right?”

“Yeah, there’s a spa.” Gabe’s looked through the resort website dozens of times—he probably has it memorized. It was the best prep they could do, half a world away. “Or we can go to the bar.”

“I vote bar,” Mikko says, coming up behind them and throwing an arm over EJ’s shoulder. “Come on, Johnson! It’s a paid vacation!”

“It’s not a paid vacation,” Gabe tells them, but EJ’s lips are twitching.

“It’s a paid vacation,” Mikko retorts. “We are getting paid to go to a resort and eat and drink and play. That sounds like a paid vacation.”

“We’re being paid to determine—”

“So we’re being paid to do as much as we possibly can,” Mikko puts in. “Stop being a grump, Gabe.”

“Yeah, stop being a grump, Landy,” EJ agrees. Gabe gapes at him.

“I’m being a grump?” Gabe demands. “EJ’s the grump!”

“I’m a grump who’s going to enjoy my paid vacation,” EJ retorts. “You’re a grump who’s going to be working too hard to actually enjoy anything.”

“We can get him drunk,” Mikko suggests, leaning around EJ. “He’s fun when he’s drunk.”

“I’m always fun, excuse you,” Gabe protests. “And I will not be working too hard. I will be working just hard enough.”

EJ snorts. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“I will,” Gabe declares. He’s—fine, he’s maybe a little bit of a workaholic, but that’s a virtue. That’s why he’s where he is today at his age. That’s why Bednar had pulled him aside before they left, discussing how important it was he do a good job on this project, how the partners were watching. Gabe knows what that means.

EJ snorts again. Mikko doesn’t make a noise, but his skepticism is clear.

“I’m sending both of you home,” Gabe tells them. “I’m going to get co-workers for this project who appreciate it when I get them the best assignments.”

“You won’t send us home,” Mikko says, confident like he isn’t the junior on this project and Gabe can’t make him do all the grunt work if he wanted to, and smacks Gabe’s shoulder. “You love us too much.”

“I really don’t,” Gabe lies. Both his friends ignore him until the announcement comes on, telling all drivers to go to their car and pedestrians to gather their belongings.

They get all their stuff, which isn’t easy, when all of them have enough for months at the resort, then trundle off the boat. Gabe takes in a breath of air—somehow fresher than any city he’s been in—and looks around for the person the resort said would pick them up.

EJ spots him first. “There,” he says, nodding to the guy holding a sign with the Rumble Mountain logo and ‘Landeskog’ scrawled under it and looking down at his phone. “Let’s go. Sooner we get on the bus, sooner we can get to the bar.”

“I thought you wanted to go to the spa,” Gabe points out.

“I reconsidered,” EJ tells him, and herds him and Mikko over to the guy.

“Hey. You’re from Rumble Mountain Resort and Spa?” Gabe asks, when they get close. The guy looks up. He’s a big guy, blonde, with a square jaw and blue eyes that flick over each of them like he’s checking them off.

“Yep. You’re the Landeskog party?”

“We are,” EJ agrees. “Are we waiting for anyone else or can we go?”

The guy’s lips twitch. “Nah, everyone else is already on the bus with Tys, you’re the last of them. Need help with anything?

“We’re good,” EJ barks, before Gabe can say that he really wouldn’t mind a hand with juggling two suitcases, a backpack, and a computer bag. “Let’s go.”

The guy’s definitely grinning now, which is better than being put off by EJ’s grumpiness. Gabe will give him points for that.

“Okay, come on.”

He leads them away from the port, towards the parking lot.

“I am sorry for EJ,” Gabe says, catching up to the guy. “He doesn’t do well on boats.”

The guy shrugs. “It’s better than the woman who came off the boat and puked on my shoes. Tys never lets me live that one down.”

Mikko cocks his head. “How is it your fault?”

“Apparently I didn’t dodge fast enough,” the guy tells him, still smiling like the teasing from this Tys guy doesn’t bother him. “Anyway, he’s the one who almost broke his foot when someone dropped a suitcase on it, so I generally come out ahead. Here we are.”

He stops at a van of the type Gabe associates with hotels and serial killers, knocks on the front window. It opens, and another guy swings out of the passenger seat—probably the Tys he was talking about.

He is…very cute. All short brown curls and bright brown eyes and cheekbones and broad shoulders and thighs. Gabe straightens, just a little, as his gaze settles on Gabe. “These our stragglers?” Tys asks the guy who was escorting them.

“Yep. The last.”

“Awesome, I’ll load them up.” Tys turns to the three of them. “You guys can get in, I’ll put these in the back.”

“We can help,” Gabe points out. EJ makes a noise that is as much a laugh as a cough.

“Much as I might like to see that, this is my job,” Tys says, then turns a little red. His friend makes a noise uncannily similar to EJ’s. “I mean, don’t worry about it, it’ll just be a sec.”

“Yeah I bet it will,” EJ mutters. Gabe elbows him hard, and pushes him towards the door. Gabe glances back once—the view of Tys loading up the suitcases is as attractive as anticipated—then gets into the car.

There are two other couples there, so the three of them file into the middle seats. A second later, the blonde guy gets into the driver’s seat, then another moment later, the back slams shut and Tys gets into the passenger seat.

“We’re good,” he tells the driver, who turns the car on.

Gabe’s crammed against the window, next to Mikko who as the youngest got bullied into the middle, so he can turn to look out the window. So far it just looks like a city—maybe a little greener than other ones, but nothing special. Not the most auspicious starts. A highway is a highway.

Once they pull onto the highway, Tys spins in his seat, so he’s facing the back. He’s grinning. It’s a great smile, the kind of smile that makes it hard not to smile back. “Hello all!” he calls. The other couples, who had been chatting quietly, shut up. “Welcome to Vancouver Island, the most beautiful and all around best spot in all of Canada and likely the world.” The driver makes a noise. “And don’t listen to anyone who says anything about the Maritimes,” Tys goes on cheerfully patting him on the shoulder. “We’ve got a bit of a drive until you get to luxury and pampering and drinking and all that good stuff, so get comfortable. If you need water or soda or a snack, we’ve got those up here, so you can just shout. If you want to agree on a music choice, we can put it on, but I warn you, don’t make it driver’s choice.”

“Or co-pilot’s choice,” the driver retorts loudly. Gabe bites down on a smile. Their banter isn’t professional, maybe, but it is charming. “Unless you like Pearl Jam.”

“Pearl Jam is a classic, no one objected,” Tys shoots back. “Anyway. If you want anything, you can just yell for one of us. Our driver is the one, the only, the man the myth the legend—Nate Dogg!” the way he leads into it makes it impossible not to clap—Gabe does, as does Mikko and the other couples. EJ at least isn’t looking as grumpy. “And I am your fearless co-pilot, T-Beauty.”

He gives a little bow, which is interrupted by Nate’s, “That’s not going to catch on. His name is Tyson.”

“Oh, shut up,” Tyson retorts, but he’s laughing as he shoves at Nate’s shoulder. “Fine. If we’re going with boring names, this is Nate Mackinnon, I’m Tyson Barrie, and we’ll be taking care of you for the rest of the drive. We’ve got about forty minutes, so sit back and enjoy the ride.”

He swings back around, then leans over the arm rest to say something quietly to Nate.

Mikko jostles Gabe as he leans close to EJ. “I think if we want Gabe to have fun, we have found an option,” he says to EJ, perfectly audibly to Gabe if hopefully not the front.

“He might unwind for a good—”

“Shut up,” Gabe hisses. “I’m not going to—he works here,” he says, looking at the back of Tyson’s head. Sure, he’s cute. If they were at a bar, maybe Gabe would go over, strike up a conversation. But Gabe’s not going to do anything when he’s a guest. He’s not a creep.

“Our noble captain,” Mikko says, patting him on the thigh. “He is very cute, though. You can at least have a nice view, if all the people who work here look like these two.”

“It’s not about the view,” Gabe replies, trying to be stern. In the front, Tyson says something, and Nate bursts into chuckles. Gabe is maybe very curious about what he said. Whatever. It’s been a while since he had a chance to get laid. He’s not going to be an idiot about it.

He pulls out his phone instead, to deal with the emails that came up while they were on the boat. EJ rolls his eyes, but he pulls out his own headphones, and Mikko is, as always, out like a light almost immediately. His head falls onto EJ’s shoulder; Gabe very pointedly doesn’t look as EJ readjusts it so it’s more comfortably against him. Catching EJ being nice is one of Gabe’s favorite ways to give him shit, but it’s less fun when they’d annoy other people doing it.

There’s plenty to distract him on his email anyway. Bednar is checking in with them—Gabe retorts they’ve gotten in and are on their way and will report back to him after they meet with on-site management in the morning—and there are fires back home that Gabe needs to put out as much as he can. He trusts Colin back at headquarters, but some things he needs to do himself, especially with the clients that he’s been working on for a while and will freak out if it’s someone other than him replying.

Once that’s done, he switches to notes. The pick-up was smooth, and the ferry pleasant, but the van’s clearly just a little old on the edges—the seats worn in, the ride not as smooth as it could be, the sort of things that have clearly been patched over dozens of time but never with enough money to change anything.

EJ leans over Mikko. “You catch the handmade sign?” he murmurs. Gabe nods, adds it to his notes. The sign was fun and personal, but like the rest of the experience so far, it’s not very professional.

He glances up at the front. Tyson’s saying something to Nate, then glances back, catches Gabe’s eye.

Gabe can’t help it. He smiles, the sort of smile he knows makes him look particularly dashing.

Tyson goes red, grins, then ducks his head and looks away. Gabe smirks down at his phone. That wasn’t creepy, he decides. It’s just a smile, and a hot guy with a cute blush.

///

The resort is nestled on the shore, weathered wood and greens like it’s grown out of the woods behind it. It’s charming, Gabe can admit—a little shabby, but the woman at the front desk, a pretty blonde, smiles widely when she checks them in, gives them the map of the grounds and the schedule of events.

“So, the bars are…” EJ says, leaning closer.

She laughs and shakes back her hair. “Here, here, and here.” She circles the areas. “Plus the pool bar, here,” she adds, circling that. “But if you want my advice, you’d go here.” She gestures to the bar nearest the shore. “It’s the most fun.”

Gabe takes the pen from her, circles it again. “Well then, we will be sure to go there,” he tells her. She giggles, tucks her hair back behind her ear. Gabe has stayed in a lot of hotels in his career as a consultant; he knows that the best way to make the stay happy is to establish a rapport with the front desk.

“So, Gabe, our rooms are ready?” EJ interrupts.

“Yeah,” Gabe says, handing her back the pen. “We can put our bags down.”

“Great. Tyson here can help you with the bags.” Gabe straightens up, but the guy she gestures over is not the one from the bus. The kid who comes over is still cute, if he barely looks old enough to drink, but his smile is also bright under dark curls as he bounces over.

“Hey! What’s up?”

“Can you bring their bags to Suite 12? Nate should have them in the van” 

“Sure.” This second Tyson does a little salute, which gets her to rolls her eyes. “Follow me.” He turns to go. “So, where all you all from?” he asks, as they walk back towards the door.

“All over, but most recently London,” EJ tells him.

As they leave the lodge, someone brushes by them, and Gabe turns to see the first Tyson walking over to the front desk—the view’s as good from the back as the front. He ducks under the separator, then pops up next to the girl, who jumps but then rolls her eyes at him and kisses him on the cheek. They lean over the screen together, brown hair and blonde. Gabe only looks for a second, then he follows the second Tyson out of the lodge.

This Tyson never stops talking either; he chatters about everything they pass and the activities and what London must be like—he’s never gone but he wants to once he graduates. Him and two of his friends are going to go around the world, apparently, even though one—Kerfy—thinks that they won’t have the money for a full round trip. Gabe listens politely, because it’ll make this stay more pleasant too for everyone to like him.

So Gabe and Mikko walk down the tree-lined path and listen to him talk as EJ pretends like he isn’t endeared by the kid’s enthusiasm until they get to the suite.

“So you guys are here,” Tyson says, stopping his cart in front of a bungalow. Gabe can hear, faintly, the sound of the ocean, probably from the other side; from this side it’s another classic wooden cabin, cozy and warm looking. Tyson steps aside so EJ can swipe the card Emma gave them at the door, then push it open when the light turns green.

Inside, the door opens into a living room with a sweeping picture window looking out onto the Pacific that dominates the room.

Mikko whistles.

“Isn’t it great?” Tyson agrees, coming in after them with one of Gabe’s bags. “This is one of the best views in the place, you guys must be important. Or rich. Or lucky.”

“Or all three,” Gabe adds, winking.

“My favorite kind of people,” Tyson tells him, then, “So, which room is this going in?”

The three of them exchange looks. “Just leave it here for now, we’ll divide them up,” Gabe tells him. Tyson nods, sets the suitcase down, and goes back outside for the rest.

Gabe ignores EJ and Mikko chatting at the window to make a slow circuit of the cabin. He’s not surprised it’s one of the nicer one—they’re definitely trying to put their best foot forward—but it is nice. The living room’s got two long, comfortable looking couches in a nice light green arranged around a fireplace and a coffee table with brochures about the Island on them; there’s a kitchenette off to the side.

He wanders over to one of the rooms, opens the door. It’s got another sweeping picture window that lets in the light across a queen bed with a white bedspread; when he looks in the bathroom it’s a little small but it has a double sink and a bath that, Gabe can’t help but notice, would probably be big enough for two, even if there’s not much room to stand.

“You calling this one?” EJ asks, sticking his head in.

“Not without seeing the others,” Gabe shoots back. He looks back into the main room—Mikko’s tipping Tyson, who takes the money with another one of his salutes and backs out of the suite.

“So, we divvying up the rooms, then bar?” Mikko asks.

“Meetings tomorrow morning, we can’t—” EJ snorts. Gabe rolls his eyes. “I was just saying we shouldn’t get smashed, not that we shouldn’t go. I could use a drink. But we have to go over our initial numbers and meeting notes first.” 

“Spoilsport,” EJ mutters, but Gabe knows perfectly well that if he hadn’t said it EJ would have. EJ pretends he’s not as much of a perfectionist as he is. “I call dibs on the bedroom with the biggest bed because I’m tallest.”

“You’re the same height as me!” Mikko protests at the same time Gabe scoffs that,

“Three inches doesn’t mean anything!”

“Well, then because I’m oldest,” EJ tells them easily.

“It’s not our fault you’re decrepit,” Mikko informs him. Gabe ignores them to go look in the other two rooms. They’re more or less equivalent except for how they share a bigger bathroom, and the one that’s not facing the shore has a bigger bed and a bookshelf.

“Well, I guess this has to be me,” EJ says, looking over Gabe’s shoulder at it. “I’m the only one who can read.”

“What’s the last book you’ve read?” Gabe demands, but honestly he’d rather be able to spend hours in that tub, so they end up with Gabe getting the room with its own bathroom, EJ getting the big bed, and Mikko getting the aisle seat on the way home for not having anything special about his room, which is maybe the least bloody a rooming situation Gabe’s ever seen established in the past few years.

///

They get dinner at the restaurant—the food doesn’t blow any of them away, but it’s fine—then wander over to the Oceanside Bar the woman at the front desk had recommended.

It’s half open-air, half closed, but the open air sections have fire pits lining the edges of the patio right up to the beach, so even the outside is warm enough that Gabe doesn’t feel the need to get his jacket, though he wonders how much money they spend on the wood for those pits. They feel like a liability risk.

The bar definitely isn’t full, and there’s no difficulty getting a space at the outside bar. There appears to be only two bartenders, and they’re both inside; Gabe settles onto one of the bar stools next to Mikko and a set of girls about Mikko’s age.

“Think this is peak?” EJ asks, his voice low.

“It is summer,” Gabe says. He’d assume that’s peak season out here.

“Not great,” Mikko agrees. Then. “But we are not on the clock now, so I need a menu.” He reaches around Gabe for the cocktail menu that’s sitting in front of the women. “Excuse me,” he tells them, and takes it. It gets them smiles, and a quick look that makes it clear they’re taking in just how tall and blonde Mikko is.

But then the women turn back to each other, giggling among themselves. Mikko looks a little disappointed, but that’s quickly fixed by looking at the menu.

“Oh, this looks excellent,” he says, scanning it. “Look at all the vodkas!”

“That’s one thing down, then,” EJ agrees, leaning over Mikko’s shoulder.

Gabe could look, but instead he just leans against the bar, looks across the grounds. They’re peppered with people—not empty, but not crowded either, like the rest of the resort. It makes Gabe’s job harder. 

“Hey, sorry for the wait, what can I—oh, it’s you guys!” Tyson—the first one—comes around the bar.

“Hey, it’s Tyson!” Mikko says, grinning at him.  

“You remember us?” Gabe asks. Tyson’s wearing a black polo now, and it’s a good look on him, tight through the chest.

“Sure. B cubed.”

“B cubed?” Gabe asks.

“Our three blondes,” Tyson tells him. “Grumpy blonde, smiley blonde, and big-headed blonde.”

Gabe scoffs as the other two laugh. “My head’s not that big,” he protests.

“Well, it was that or hot blonde, and Nate said I’m not allowed to nickname customers hot anything anymore after—well. I’m not allowed to.” Tyson’s still smiling, though he’s a little red, but Gabe grins.

“I think I like hot blonde better.”

“I mean, it’s less descriptive, though.” Tyson tells him. “That could be all three of you. Big headed blonde, I mean. Then it’s clear who I mean.”

“And did you need to talk about me a lot?” Gabe asks. “What were you gossiping about, up in front?”

Tyson flushes again, and he chuckles, a little nervous and a little uncomfortable and a lot cute. Gabe wants to—but he cuts that off. Some casual flirting is one thing. Anything more is unacceptable.

“It’s staff’s privilege to talk about our customers,” Tyson tells him, lifting his chin in a way that Gabe thinks is meant to sound condescending but comes off a little brattier than Tyson was probably going for. “Can’t tell you what was said.”

“Other than that Gabe has a big forehead,” Mikko cuts in. He sounds delighted. “You said I was smiley?”

“It seemed right,” Tyson tells him, grinning back at him. Gabe leans back, takes a breath. “So, what can I get you?”

“I want that,” Mikko announces, pointing at the drink on the menu with a description about a paragraph long.

“Not warming up at all, eh?” Tyson asks, and grabs something from above the bar. His hands are large and long-fingered, and Gabe can’t help but watch them as he grabs a vodka bottle. “Just diving right in. My kind of man.”

“Or the kind of man who will be hungover for his meeting,” Gabe puts in. Mikko turns to him, wrinkling his nose. EJ snorts.

“Don’t pay him any attention,” Mikko tells Tyson earnestly. “Just because he doesn’t know how to have fun doesn’t mean I don’t.”

“For sure, we can ignore Captain Tight-Pants over there,” Tyson agrees. He shoots Gabe a glance out of the corner of his eyes. “The fun table can be over here.”

“I know how to have fun,” Gabe mutters. “Just not before meetings.”

“So you only know how to have too much fun?” Tyson asks. He’s still making Mikko’s drinks, and despite his chatter he’s moving surely. “That doesn’t sound like the worst.”

“You’ve never seen him hungover,” EJ inserts. He’s just been watching, which definitely spells trouble. “What is even going into that thing?”

“More to the point, what isn’t?” Gabe asks.

“If you have to ask you aren’t ready to know,” Tyson tells them, then starts shaking the cocktail shaker. He pours it out into a margarita glass—it’s a lurid red that looks a little like blood—and sets it in front of Mikko. “There you go.”

Mikko’s eyes light up as he takes a sip. “That’s—wow.”

“Right?” Tyson smiles, smug. It’s a good look on him. “It’s my favorite.” He gives him another smile, then turns to EJ. “Anything for you? We know the buzzkill over there won’t get anything.”

“I’ll have a whiskey, neat,” Gabe says before EJ can reply. “McClellan, if you have it.”

Tyson presses his lips together, but he turns behind the bar instead of saying anything. Gabe doesn’t get why. He likes whiskey. It’s a respectable drink. Even if it’s not as fun to watch Tyson make.

Tyson pours out the whiskey for Gabe, then gives EJ the beer he asks for. “All set, then?” Tyson asks.

Gabe looks at his co-workers. Mikko looks nothing less than gleeful with his concoction, and EJ is definitely satisfied. “I believe so,” he tells Tyson, smiling at him. “Thank you for your help.”

Tyson opens his mouth, then closes it, going red. “I. Yeah. I mean. You’re welcome. Well. It’s my job,” he stammers a little. “I—so what are you doing tomorrow?” he asks, clearly trying and failing to save face.

Gabe manages not to smirk. Maybe. He tries, at least. “We have a meeting.”

“Well, yes. But after that. Do you have plans? To have fun, if you know how?”

Gabe looks at EJ and Mikko, who both shrug. They hadn’t made any firm plans, other than debriefing the meeting and setting tasks. “The spa was on the menu,” Gabe tells him. “And—”

“The pool,” Mikko puts in. “A lot of lying near it.”

“The spa’s great. Do you have something scheduled yet? You can’t go wrong with any of them, but—I think Karen’s on tomorrow, her hot rock massages are…” He does finger kisses which should and do look ridiculous, but somehow work anyway. “Or Maria’s facials are top notch. Or—”

“Anything else we should be sure to do tomorrow?” Gabe cuts in, before they get the entire spa menu. Not that he’d be opposed, per se, but he’s not actually into the spa that much.

“Well, tomorrow there’s a hike that should be good—it’s in the afternoon, I don’t know when your meeting is. But it’s always a gorgeous view, and you can sometimes get the beginnings of sunset. And—” he cuts himself off this time, as someone at the far end of the bar leans over the table. “Sorry, I’ve got to do my job, I guess.”

“I guess so,” Gabe agrees. “Thanks for the tips.”

“And the drinks!” Mikko adds, and Tyson does a little salute thing before he scoots away to the other side of the bar.

“So, hot blonde.” EJ is definitely laughing at him. “You sure you’re still not going to have any fun this job?”

“Don’t,” Gabe tells him, yet again. “Do we have a game plan for tomorrow?”

“Yes, we have it all set,” Mikko rolls his eyes at him, but he humors Gabe in talking through their presentation again. So Gabe doesn’t comment when it devolves into office gossip, not the least because he’s interested in Comes’ new job too. He chats, and watches over his shoulder as Tyson laughs and chats and serves drinks and how his biceps move as he does. It’s fine. Gabe’s sure he won’t see him again all summer.

///

“Very impressive,” Mrs. O’Connor says, when they all sit back down at the conference table, presentation over. It’s just the four of them in the room, which Gabe hadn’t really been expecting—he’d figured other corporate officers would be there, maybe the board—but he guessed they’ll be there for their final presentation only. It’s a family company after all, tightly held by her; she doesn’t need board approval for bringing in consulting.

“Thank you,” Gabe tells her, smiling the sort of smile that generally works with old ladies. “We’re excited to get started.” EJ and Mikko both murmur their agreement.

“Good.” She folds her hands in front of her. She’s a tall woman, white haired, with the sort of frailty that comes with age and weaker bones. But her eyes are dark and sharp as she looks at the folder of documents they’ve come up with so far, then up at the three of them. “May I be frank with you?”

“Of course.” Gabe gives her that smile again. She doesn’t seem particularly impressed, but he thinks she’s softening. “That’s what we’re here for.”

She nods, then glances over her shoulder, out the picture window that overlooks the resort and beyond it, the blue sweep of the Pacific, out into infinity. Framed like that, she looks like she makes sense here, even in her dark, well-tailored skirt suit. It makes Gabe feel somehow uncomfortable—out of place. “Rumble Mountain has been in my family since 1938,” she tells them. They all know this already—it’s in the files—but they listen politely. “My grandfather bought the property back before there was anything else here. He built the first hotel building himself, him and his sons—he named it too, which maybe explains that. My father didn’t build the rest of it, the expansion, himself, but he might as well have. If it went under…my parents and my father’s parents would be turning in their grave. They made this what it was.”

“Well, we’re here to stop—”

She cuts Mikko of with a look, not stern but enough to quiet him—she’s clearly a good manager. “But I’m also old, and I’m tired. None of my children have any interest in the hotel, either running or keeping it. If we’re going to have to figure out what’s going to happen to it, I want it to be now, while I’m still alive and I can make sure it’s taken care of.” She flicks her gaze to each of them in turn. “That’s why I hired Sakic Consulting. I’m trusting you boys to tell me what’s our best approach. How I can keep this place together, or let it die with dignity.”

“Yes ma’am,” EJ says, and he doesn’t even sound like he’s joking.

“We’ll do our best,” Gabe promises her. He’d do his best with every project he’s assigned, of course—it’s why he is where he is, and this one is especially important anyway, with that partnership offer tantalizingly unarticulated—but this one’s going to be more. Some projects always are. “We’ll help you do what’s right for the hotel, and for you.”

“Good.” She nods, then stands up. The three of them get to their feet too. “Let me know what else you need—I’m having Chris send over the numbers you requested, and you’ll get the weekly reports. We’ll meet again in a week, once you have your feet under you here.”

“Sounds good.”

“And—” she smiles, and there’s a twinkle in her eye. “Enjoy the resort.”

“We will,” Mikko assures her, and they all shake her hand as they walk out into the lobby the executive offices open off of. It had been empty other than the secretary when they came in—early, because apparently Mrs. O’Connor started her day early—but now there’s clearly more motion in the other offices, and, sitting on one of the couches—

“Him again?” EJ mutters, in disbelief, as Tyson scrambles to his feet. Next to him, the driver—Nate?—gets to his feet too, even as he says something under his breath to Tyson.

“Oh,” Tyson says, and there’s a wealth of meaning in that word. He’s in what seems to be the resort uniform of khakis and polo again; it’s still a good look on him, even if his hair is a little messy in ways that make Gabe wonder how long ago he woke up. Who he woke up with. “You’re the people who want to close us down.”

“Tys,” Nate hisses. Gabe just smiles at him. He’s not not used to this, when people hear about his job. He’s done this spiel before.

“We aren’t trying to close anyone down,” he tells Tyson. “We’re trying to determine what is the best outcome for—”

“So how to fire most of us,” Tyson cuts him off, his arms crossing over his chest.

 “No!” Mikko protests. “No, it’s not—we just make things efficient, so most people can keep their jobs, or get proper severance, or—”

“Oh, severance, that’ll really help, “Nate says. His hand’s on Tyson’s shoulder, and he’s looking at the three of them with the same sort of sneer Tyson has. “Come on, Tys. Let’s go get our—”

“No.” Tyson shakes his head. He’s still looking at Gabe, and there’s fire in his eyes and a challenge in the set of his chin. “No, you can’t just shut us down.”

Gabe sighs. “We’re not trying to shut you down, we aren’t evil, or—”

“Is that one of the options, though?” Tyson demands.

“It’s not off the table,” Gabe has to admit—he’s not going to lie. Especially not to placate resort workers who really have no right to be questioning him or his job here. It was Tyson’s boss who hired him. And he doesn’t particularly like when he gives bad news, but spreadsheets don’t give ambiguous answers, usually. The answer is the answer. “So—”

“So I’ll prove it to you,” Tyson interrupts again. He’s getting a little flushed.

“Shit,” Nate mutters, like he knows what’s coming.

“I’ll prove it,” Tyson says again.

“And how are you going to do that?” Gabe demands. “We have a plan—”

“Sure, you have spreadsheets or whatever, I know.” Tyson waves a hand. “But you don’t know this place. I’ll show you.” He sets his jaw, and he’s glaring at Gabe like he doesn’t think Gabe will take him up on it. Like he thinks Gabe’s too stuck on his—spreadsheets or whatever—to do whatever Tyson has in store.

“Gabe,” EJ says, a warning or a suggestion, Gabe can’t tell, but he’s also incapable of not taking a challenge, especially a challenge from a cute guy.

“Fine,” Gabe retorts, maybe a little…crisp. “You can try to prove whatever you want to me. It’s not going to change the outcome, but you’re welcome to try.”

“I will,” Tyson snaps back.

“Good.”

“Good!”

“Okay,” Mikko cuts in, stepping between them. “Gabe, we should—”

“Meet me by the pool cabanas at 4,” Tyson tells Gabe. “Wear clothes you can walk in.”

“See you then.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“Good—”

“Can we be done with this now?” EJ asks, rolling his eyes. “Come on Gabe.”

“Fine.” Gabe nods to him, then steals one more look back at Tyson before he stalks away towards the office they’ve been assigned. Nate and Tyson are muttering about something, and Gabe can see the lines of his profile, how even the unflattering khakis can’t hide a great ass. He is, for better or worse, still very cute when he’s angry.

“So, you have a date, then?” EJ asks, when they’re in the office and the door is closed. “That’s working fast.”

“It’s not a date,” Gabe informs him. The office space is big—big enough for three desks—but it’s still not quite enough room to pace, even if Gabe’s honestly trying his best. “It’s a tour, or something. I guess.”

“Where you’re definitely into the tour guide,” EJ points out. “And he is definitely into you.”

“It doesn’t matter.” That, surprisingly, is Mikko, not Gabe. “I know I joke, but he is our client, or he works for them. And he is acting as liaison now, unofficially. That’s not ethical.”

EJ turns to Mikko, eyebrows raised. “Since when are you the agency employee handbook?”

“Since Gabe wants to be partner,” Mikko retorts. “It would not look good for him, no? To be sleeping with—”

“Gabe is not going to sleep with anybody,” Gabe interrupts. Mikko has a good point, which he should have thought of—technically it’s probably a grey area, because Tyson isn’t any sort of official liaison, but it doesn’t look great, to be sure. “Gabe is going to do his work and then go exploring and then have his tour.”

“Sure,” EJ drawls, but he sits down at the desk closest to the door, and pulls his laptop out of his briefcase.

“I will,” Gabe insists. “So. Debrief. Action items from the meeting?” He prompts, and they buckle down to work.

///

Gabe does indeed work, then explore a little, and then he goes back to the suite and changes out of his suit. He doesn’t know what Tyson has planned for them, but he said walking, so Gabe changes into jeans and a t-shirt and sneakers. And maybe he fusses in front of the mirror for a little with his hair, but he likes to look good, there’s no crime in that. Then he makes his way to the pool cabanas.

It’s a few minutes before four, and Tyson isn’t there yet, so Gabe sits down on one of the deck chairs to wait and pulls out his phone. He’d dealt with most of his email in the afternoon, but there’s something new from Bednar, wanting a check in—he’ll do that on his computer—and a worried email from the client on one of his other projects, whose deadline is coming up and is getting nervous. He shoots him back an email, CCing Colin, to assure him that everything’s on track even though Gabe’s offsite and that Colin can give a more exact timeline and updated data.

Then he pulls out his personal phone. There’s a text from Bea, asking how it is—he sends her back a picture of the ocean, just so she’ll get jealous—and an email from Samuel, asking if he’d like to come to his dinner party, which Gabe sends honest regrets to. Samuel’s dinner parties were always excellent—he was a chef, after all. If there was one thing Gabe regretted from breaking up with him, it was having his meals more often. Now he only got them at casual friend rates.

“Hey, you showed up.”

Gabe looks up—Tyson’s standing there, half-shadowed by the sun. “Did you think I wouldn’t?” he asks, getting up. Tyson looks a little frazzled, like he ran here, but he’s bouncing on his feet with energy.

“Kind of,” Tyson admits. He runs a hand over his hair, then takes a breath. “I mean. Anyway. Ready to go?”

“Yes. Are you?” Gabe asks. “Do you need a second?”

“What? No. I just came right from an airport run, that’s all.” Tyson shakes out his arms, then. “Right. So. This way.” He leads the way away from the pool, down to the beach. “I didn’t really think much about this, because I came up with it about as I told you to meet me here, but it’s really cool, and it’s something that’s unique to here—you can’t get it anywhere else.” They hit the beach, and Tyson looks back at Gabe, his gaze lingering on his legs. “Are you going to be able to walk in those? There’s a little bit of climbing. I assumed you were fit and all, but—”

“I can climb,” Gabe objects. He’s very fit.

“Those pants are awfully tight,” Tyson points out. He’s still not not looking. Gabe grins.

“Trust me, I can do plenty in these pants.” Tyson goes a little red, and he chuckles. Gabe mentally slaps his own wrist. Flirt is somewhat his usual setting these days, because it helps with most clients, but he needs to stop. “Why did you think I was not going to show up?”

“Because I just sort of decided we were going?” Tyson points out. He’s leading them down the beach now, away from the resort. It’s getting quieter, farther away from any people. “And there’s no reason you should. You’ve got whatever official plan you have.”

“You made a good point,” Gabe tells him. He can see Tyson’s shoulders do something at that, like he’s surprised by it. By anyone telling him he was right? It’s not something Gabe would have thought of, and he still doesn’t think it’ll change anything, but it could be worthwhile. And Gabe is not only thinking that because he gets to hang out with a cute guy, he tells the voice in his head that sounds a little like his sister. “Having an insider’s perspective is important. Of course I was going to take you up on it.”

“An insider’s perspective, right.” Tyson agrees, but he’s smiling, something small and pleased. Like he didn’t expect that answer. “That’s reasonable of you.”

“I try to always be reasonable.”

“Well, yeah, so do I, but that usually doesn’t work out.” Gabe’s startled into a laugh. “And anyway, hot people don’t usually have to be reasonable,” Tyson adds, then Gabe can see the back of his neck go red.

“Yeah?” Gabe asks. He can’t help how pleased he sounds. He’d like to see anyone not be pleased by a hot guy calling him hot. “Do you have a lot of experience with that?”

“I’m a bartender, so—yeah.” Tyson laughs again, easier, and starts telling Gabe a story about what’s apparently the craziest thing he’s seen people do at a bar—not this bar, he’s quick to assure Gabe, but one back in Victoria where he has bartended.

“No, no, I’m sorry, that does not happen outside of American teen movies!” Gabe protests. “There was a bet?”

“There was a bet,” Tyson confirms. “I heard all about it. After she threw a drink in his face.”

“Good for her,” Gabe agrees. “And what did you do?”

Tyson blinks at him. “What?”

“Did you do anything?” Gabe asks. “After you heard. And she threw the drink?”

“I needed that job,” Tyson says slowly. “So—no.” He bites his lip. “I mean. We all made his drinks a lot weaker after that.”

“Good.” Gabe grins at Tyson, and Tyson grins back. He has dimples. It’s—god, it’s very cute. And even from just this conversation, Gabe can tell that he likes Tyson, just, as a person. He’s funny and charming and sarcastic and Gabe wants to see if his flush goes down beneath his shirt.

“Okay, we’re going up here.” Until now, they’ve been walking down the beach, but now Tyson turns up a path into the woods beside it. It’s not quite a well-worn path, but it’s clearly been used, and Tyson obviously knows the way.

“If you’re taking me somewhere to kill me, EJ is officially allowed to take over for me,” Gabe tells him. “So that won’t get you anything.”

Tyson snorts. “I wouldn’t kill you here. It’s too pretty. There are way better places to murder someone on the island.”

“The fact that you have a list is deeply disturbing.”

“I don’t have a list, I just—haven’t you ever been somewhere and thought, wow, this would be a great place to hide a body?”

“No?” It’s only sort of a lie. “Do you think that often?”

“You clearly don’t watch enough crime TV.”

“Or I’m not serial killer.”

“Or you aren’t worried about them enough.” Tyson glances back over his shoulder. “Do you trust everyone you meet to just lead you into the middle of nowhere?”

“No.” Gabe retorts.

“So I’m special?”

“Sure are,” Gabe agrees, and can’t help how his gaze flicks over Tyson, how it lingers a little too long on his lips. Tyson bites at his lip, then looks ahead in enough time to barely avoid stumbling over something.

“So, why are you here, actually?” he asks, hurried. “If it’s not just to say we need to shut down and all lose our jobs?”

Gabe sighs. “It’s—that’s not what consulting is.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Sometimes we have to say that. But we’re just an outside view. We come in to tell management and executives about how to run their businesses more efficiently. What the company does with that information isn’t our concern.”

“That’s easy to say in your thousand dollar jeans.”

“These didn’t cost a thousand dollars,” Gabe protests, looking down. They’re nice jeans and they make his ass look great, but they aren’t that expensive.

“Fine, thousand dollar suits.” Gabe doesn’t say anything. “I mean, it was sort of worth it, or at least, from the point of view of someone looking at you in it, but—”

“I’ll tell my tailor.”

“Yeah, he can put that on his website. Tyson Barrie said his tailoring made Gabe—what’s your last name?”

“Landeskog.”

“Landeskog,” Tyson repeats, trying it out on his tongue. His pronunciation is helplessly Canadian. “Gabe—Gabriel?” Gabe nods. “Gabriel Landeskog.” Gabe has to watch his lips, as they form his name. “Hm. That’s a mouthful.”

“Sorry my name doesn’t live up to your standards.”

“Who ever said a mouthful was bad?” Tyson retorts. They’re still climbing up the path—Gabe can still hear the ocean, so they must be close to it, but he can’t see it through the rocks and trees. It makes it feel like they’re the only two people in the world. “Lots of mouthfuls are good.”

Gabe snorts. Tyson blushes again, but he doesn’t deny it. Which—well, Gabe hadn’t really been fooling himself that they hadn’t been flirting, but this was some confirmation.

“Anyway,” Tyson says, loudly. “You tell places how to run more efficiently. What about us? I know it’s not just how to run efficiently, it’s what Lex is going to do with it.”

“I really can’t talk about that. Confidentiality.”

“You’re here to figure out if she should shut it down or if she can sell. Or if she can convince her kids to get a manager and keep it going.” It’s basically exactly their mandate—Gabe doesn’t say anything, and Tyson shrugs. “I’ve been here a while. I know a lot. And we all know Lex is getting old, and her kids are kind of dicks.”

“Not wanting to run the family business isn’t being a dick.”

“Abandoning your family is.” Tyson says it like a statement, like it’s not worth arguing about. “Taking advantage of everything that’s given you and then just pretending you can do what you want with it when you haven’t even earned it is. Family is family, even when it’s not what you want to be doing—” he cuts himself off, shakes his head. “Long story short, they’re dicks.”

“Have a lot of feelings about this?” Gabe asks.

“Just a little,” Tyson retorts, but he’s chuckling again. “Anyway, here we are.” They take a final turn on the path—and they’re on a bluff overlooking the ocean. The sun’s just starting to drift downwards, and it lights up the water into a sea of sparkles, so bright it almost hurts to look at. The island, or a cove they’re in, skirts around halfway, dotted with trees and birds whirling above it, wheeling out to sea then back to land. There’s a boat in the distance, a sailboat with its white sail hardly visible against the shining sea.

Gabe can feel his breath catch. “Wow.”

“Right?” Tyson sounds smug again; when Gabe turns back to look at him, he’s looking out at the ocean too. His palms are pressed against his thighs, and there’s a drop of sweat from their hike and the sun that trickles down his neck and under the collar of his shirt. The warm afternoon sun is settling in his cheeks and his hair and his eyes and he just looks—warm. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Gabe turns back to the view. “Yeah,” he agrees.

“This is one of my favorite places on the island,” Tyson tells him. “If you time it right you can see the sunset, and that’s really breathtaking, but I have to work this evening so we couldn’t go that late.”

“You take hikes up here?”

“Yeah. A lot of times with the kids, because it’s a pretty easy hike and you can bring a picnic up.” Tyson gestures around the clearing. “But there’s a general hike too. And it’s on all the trail maps.”

“Do you lead a lot of hikes?” Gabe asks. Tyson shrugs.

“Some. I more work the bar and the bus, and I waiter sometimes when I can pick up a shift, and sometimes I’ll do the front desk if Emma needs a quick break. But usually she doesn’t let me. I’m apparently not polite enough.”

Gabe snorts. Tyson grins. “Right? I think there are more important things than being polite. If I had been polite this morning, you wouldn’t get to see this view.”

“I couldn’t have survived that.”

“I know.” Tyson nods, satisfied. “So, convinced you shouldn’t shut us down yet?”

Gabe looks at him sidelong. “Why do you care so much? Isn’t it just a job?” He’s never seen someone who’s just an employee care this much about a place, or at least, not this loudly.

Tyson looks out over the water, something far away in his eyes. “It’s—it’s just a good place. I’ve been here almost ten years now, and it’s…. Good. A good place to be.” He looks over at Gabe, and his eyes are big, yearning. Gabe wants—god, it makes him want to wrap Tyson in blankets, makes him want to give him whatever he asks for. Makes him want to kiss him until he’s smiling and content again. “I just want to keep that.”

Gabe swallows. “I don’t want you to lose that. But I have to do my job.”

“I know. I do. I’m not stupid.” Tyson shakes his head. “But if I can do anything to tip the scale, I will.” He glances over at Gabe. “Even take you on tours.”

“I’m sorry I’m such a hardship.”

“Yeah, if only you were fifty and balding, this would be a lot easier.”

“I’ll put a call into the main office, tell them about your complaint.”

“Good, do that. Say they really need to cut down on sending hot blondes, it’s overwhelming.”

“Isn’t that guy—Nate—he’s a big blonde guy, right?”

“Yeah, but he’s the OG. He’s my big blonde guy,” Tyson explains. Gabe tenses. Tyson twitches. “Or, I mean. Not mine, mine. He’s my best friend. And he’s straight. Or well, mostly, but what a man feels about Sidney Crosby is between him and his childhood poster and I don’t ask questions.”

Gabe bursts out laughing. “You’re so Canadian.”

“It’s not Canadian to like hockey!” Tyson protests. “Or if it is, I am happy to be Canadian.” He narrows his eyes at Gabe. “Do you not like hockey? Either be careful or take a step away from the edge of the bluff.”

“I love hockey,” Gabe tells him, and Tyson nods and grins.

“Good, you’re allowed to say in the country then.”

“I didn’t know that was what was at stake.”

“Yeah, you automatically get deported.”

“We couldn’t have that.”

“No, that would be a problem.” Tyson goes quiet for a second, then, “Where would you go back to?”

“If I was deported?”

Tyson rolls his eyes. “Where are you from?”

Right, he’d had that conversation with the other Tyson. “London.”

Tyson tilts his head at Gabe. “You don’t look like any Englishman I’ve seen.”

“What does that mean?”

“That you’re way too handsome and not inbred enough looking,” Tyson tells him, and Gabe chuckles again.

“I’m from Sweden originally. But we’re based in London right now.”

“Sweden, yeah, that makes more sense. With the hair and the eyes and the Viking thing.”

“Viking?” Gabe asks. If he tosses his hair, he can’t be blamed for it, especially with how Tyson watches the motion.

“Yeah, your whole—thing.” Tyson shakes his head, flushing. “You know what I mean. Not that all blondes are Swedish, obviously, I mean Nate isn’t and I was pretty sure your friend has an American accent so he isn’t, but generally when I have to guess here I—anyway, sorry, you should tell me to shut up instead of laughing at me, hey!” he objects. Gabe is definitely sort of laughing at him, but it’s just—he wants to see how long Tyson can go, a little.

“Sorry,” Gabe says, even though he’s not.

“Sure you are.”

“I’m very sorry,” Gabe tells him, as earnest as he can get, which he’s been told is very earnest. “I wasn’t laughing at you.”

“You were definitely laughing,” Tyson tells him, accusing.

“I’m in a beautiful setting, with good companionship. Why shouldn’t I be laughing?” Gabe asks. Tyson bites at his lip again, does the same nervous chuckle as before, his gaze darting down and away from Gabe. If they were anywhere else—if Gabe were anyone else, if Tyson was—maybe he’d step closer. Maybe he’d coax Tyson’s face up so he’d meet Gabe’s eyes, and Tyson would be half-laughing and blushing and—

“You know, while the resort is here all its guests could be laughing at beautiful setting and good companionship,” Tyson says pointedly, and Gabe rolls his eyes.

“Yes, I know.”

“Just in case you didn’t get it.”

“I did,” Gabe assures him. “I do get it. But sometimes numbers matter more.”

Tyson laughs again, but this one is an ugly laugh. The sort of laugh that hurts coming out and hurts to hear. It doesn’t look like it fits on Tyson. It shouldn’t fit on Tyson. “No kidding.” He shakes his head again, like he’s clearing it. “But I won’t let that happen, so it’s okay. Sometimes numbers can be beaten.” He sets his jaw and glares at Gabe, all determination and fire.

“I hope you manage it.” Gabe does. Partly because he already likes this place, and he doesn’t want it shut down. But mainly, maybe, because he likes that determination, likes how Tyson doesn’t pretend it’s anything else, and doesn’t want that shut down either.

“You actually do, don’t you?” Tyson asks, sounding incredulous. “That makes it harder.”

“Makes what harder?”

“Everything,” Tyson mutters. Then, louder. “Hating you. I was ready to be all up in arms against the evil consultants with their evil goatees and suits and whatever who came in to do whatever they could to combat fun and close us down. But none of you even have a goatee.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Gabe strokes at his own beard. “I’ve seen Mikko try to grow facial hair, though. You’re really better off this way.”

“I understand that.” Tyson pats at his own bare chin, but his eyes are on Gabe’s hands. “But I think I prefer you, anyway.”

The sun’s a little lower now, though it’s still hours from sunset, but it changes the scene, makes the water somehow look a different shade. Gabe looks out at the wheeling birds, instead of at Tyson’s face, or any of the dangerous things about him to look at. Client, he reminds himself. Client and an employee and it would be all sorts of not okay, even if Tyson is definitely flirting back. Even if Gabe’s never really felt this level of immediate chemistry with someone.

“We should probably head back,” Tyson says eventually. He sounds regretful about it. “I have a shift at the bar this evening.”

“Are you ever not working?” Gabe asks. Tyson had still been bartending when they left last night, presumably had worked until close, then he’d been up again by the end of their meeting at 10, and he had been working until he’d met Gabe at 4.

Tyson shrugs. “I pick up shifts where I can, I mean. Who can’t always use the extra cash? Maybe not you, because you probably make more in an hour than I do in a year, but like, normal people.”

“I am normal!”

“You’re really not,” Tyson tells him, glancing over his shoulder as he heads towards the path. It makes him miss something on the ground, or something, because he stumbles, and Gabe acts on instinct to grab his arm and pull him in to keep him upright.

He’s warm. That’s Gabe’s first realization, as he basically tugs Tyson into his chest. He is warm, and he’s heavier than he looks in a way that makes Gabe think of the solid muscle that must be under his clothes, and his indrawn breath is loud as he stumbles into Gabe, looks up at him, his lips slightly parted and his eyes a little glazed.

Gabe can’t move. He should. He should let go and apologize and be a safe two meters apart from now on. But his hand doesn’t move from Tyson’s forearm, and Tyson doesn’t make any move to pull away either. Instead, Gabe watches as his tongue flicks out to wet his lips, as he tilts his head up. This close, his skin looks so smooth—Gabe wants to see if it’s warm too. Wants to know what it tastes like. Wants to see what it would look like stained with his marks. 

“Thanks,” Tyson says, barely a breath, barely louder than the ocean.

“No problem.” Gabe licks his own lips. Tyson’s looking up at him, and his eyes are big and ark and watching Gabe’s lips. Gabe could—he shouldn’t—he _could—_

“We should get going!” Tyson nearly throws himself backwards, away from Gabe.  Far away. He’s panting like he ran a race. “Now. We should. Go back. Because I have to—I have a shift. And you probably have like, work or something, because you’re here to be a guest, and I have to tend bar, and we should—go back.”

Gabe takes a long, slow breath, and presses his hands into the sides of his thighs. He’s not going to let himself be disappointed. So they didn’t kiss. It was probably for the best. Even if Gabe’s aching, now—thinking about what might have been.

“Yeah,” he agrees slowly. He doesn’t get any closer to Tyson, but he watches his chest move, watches the flush on his neck. He still wants to know what that would taste like. “Shall we?”

“We shall, your lordship,” Tyson replies, doing something with his voice that Gabe suspects is an attempt to imitate him. “Seriously, bud? I know you’re from London, but that’s a lot even so.”

“It’s a perfectly normal turn of phrase,” Gabe retorts, but the tension’s been broken—probably on purpose. Between them they manage to keep bickering the whole walk back—light and easy and nothing like that moment up on the bluff. They say good-bye without talking about it either, splitting up at the cabanas.

“So, have I convinced you yet?” Tyson asks. His gaze is still like that dare.

But Gabe shakes his head. “Tyson—“

“Then I’ll just have to keep trying,” Tyson tells him, determined, then waves goodbye before Gabe can protest, if he was going to protest and jogs over to the pool where Nate’s apparently lifeguarding. Tyson glances back at Gabe, once, then makes an irritated face at being caught and throws himself into the chair next to Nate.

Gabe takes a deep breath, and heads back to his room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we really dive into our romcom tropes...
> 
> Sorry this is up late in the day! 
> 
> Next chapter up Monday, March 11th

Two days later, Gabe’s awake and basically ready to go make himself some coffee and start work—or possibly go for a run, he hasn’t decided yet—when EJ knocks on his door. “You have mail,” he announces.

Gabe opens the door. EJ looks like he hasn’t had his coffee yet, and is also not sure what’s happening or if he approves of it. “Mail?”

“It was under the door when I woke up. I’m assuming it’s for you.” He hands over what looks like receipt paper. On the back, _Meet me here at 11. Wear something that doesn’t make you look like a suit—Tyson_ is scrawled in surprisingly legible handwriting.

“Wow, really?” EJ asks, when Gabe’s done reading it.

“What?”

“Your face just did a lot.”

“My face did nothing.”

“What happened on your date?”

“It wasn’t a date. Nothing. It was just—we just went on a hike, like I told you.” Gabe carefully folds the note and puts it in his pocket, then pushes past EJ to get to the kitchenette. If he’s smiling now, that’s no one’s business but his own. “Nothing else.”

“That is super convincing. Can you make me some too? I still can’t figure it out.”

“You still don’t want to,” Gabe retorts, but he pushes the buttons on the coffee machine for two cups. “And why would it not be convincing? It’s true.”

“Sure it is.” EJ crosses his arms. “You like this guy, don’t you?”

“I’ve met him three times. Only really talked with him once. I don’t know him enough to like him.”

“Very logical,” EJ tells him. It sounds like he’s agreeing but also like he’s laughing at Gabe. Gabe glares.

“What?” he demands. “Isn’t logic what we do?”

“Yeah, it is. And I’ve seen your very logical relationships.”

“They are.” All of Gabe’s relationships have been very logical. Or, that sounds cold—they’ve been reasonable. He likes them, they like him, they can both find times in their schedules for each other, when Gabe’s home and they aren’t busy. It’s worked well for him. He still likes most of his exes. “It’s worked so far.”

“Okay.” EJ still doesn’t sound like he believes him, but then the coffee machine beeps and EJ’s distracted by that.

Gabe takes his own coffee back to his room, where he turns his back on the ocean to get his computer. If he’s meeting up with Tyson, he should get work done now; he’ll see if he can fit in some gym time after.

He stops working at 10:40, when he goes to the closet to look for something that fits Tyson’s specifications. He doesn’t know what Tyson means, looks like a suit—he wears a suit, sometimes, but when he doesn’t he doesn’t think he looks particularly corporate. He settles on khakis and another t-shirt. He’s just doing this to humor Tyson; if Tyson doesn’t like it he can figure something else out.

He distracts himself from thinking about how that might mean Tyson having to look through his closet, which means in his bedroom, which is a place he shouldn’t be thinking about, by going to the bathroom to check his hair. He lingers there for a few minutes, then brings his computer into the main room of the suite to work.

It means he’s very prompt to open the door, when a knock comes at 11:03. “Hi,” he says, pulling it open.

“Hi.” Tyson raises his hand in a little wave thing.

“Hi,” someone adds, from behind Tyson, and Gabe looks up to see Nate, standing there looking pointed.

“Oh, hi,” Gabe smiles at him too. “Nate, right? I’m Gabe.”

Nate nods back at him, makes a noise that could be a nice to meet you too, if you interpreted it generously. Tyson rolls his eyes and elbows his friend. “Nate’s coming with us today.”

“He is?”

“I am,” Nate confirms. He glares at Gabe like he thinks Gabe is going to challenge that. Gabe doesn’t let his smile falter. That’s fine. Gabe had maybe been looking forward to some time with Tyson, to go back to their flirting, but—this is fine.

“So do I pass?” he asks, opening his arms up. Tyson’s gaze flicks up and down his body, quick but not subtle.

“I guess you’ll do,” Tyson replies, but his cheeks are flushed. Gabe grins, satisfied. He’ll never say it doesn’t feel good to be admired. “Do you own any pants that actually fit?”

“People who live in skinny jean houses,” Nate says, and Tyson makes a face at him. Gabe swallows, and he can’t help glancing at Tyson’s legs. His thighs look tempting enough in khakis, now he can’t help but think about them in skinny jeans.

“Yeah but I don’t wear skinny jeans around all day.”

“You would if you could,” Nate retorts. “I live with you, bro. I know what’s in your closet.”

“Way to sound creepy,” Tyson tosses back. Then he glances at Gabe. “We just—we share a room here. Well, a cabin, we each have our own room. It’s not, like—”

“I get it,” Gabe tells him. He does, except for how the way Nate had softened looking at Tyson, then hardened again at Gabe. “I’ve got roommates here too.”

“Right, grumpy blonde and smiley blonde.”

“EJ and Mikko,” Gabe corrects him. “Should we go? Or was the plan to just stand here all day?”

“No, we’re going, come on.” Tyson steps away from the door, and Gabe sticks his key and his work and personal phones in his pockets then closes the door behind him. “Today we’re going to tour the resort.”

“I have a map and have looked around myself,” Gabe points out. Nate snorts, sounding skeptical.

“You haven’t had the Tyson tour, though,” Tyson replies. Nate snorts again, sounding if anything even more skeptical.

“Well, the guy who brought us here the first day was named Tyson, and he did show us some things…”

“Psh, Josty.” Tyson waves a hand. “He doesn’t count. He’s just the baby Tyson.” He turns down a walkway, the other way from where Gabe has usually been going to get to the pools and beach. “He’s only been here a few summers. I’m the one who’s been here forever, I know the good spots.”

“Good spots for what?” Gabe asks. His voice is maybe a little lower than usual, but also his mind is only going one place.

Tyson gives him a sidelong look, his lips twitching as he flushes a bit. “Oh, all sorts of things.”

“Mainly getting snacks,” Nate adds, prosaic. “And then eating the snacks where no one will steal them.”

“You say that like you don’t take advantage of my scouting,” Tyson protests, and it’s back to them bickering cheerfully as they walk down the path, Tyson interrupting himself every once in a while to point out things like, the tree where Kerfy almost got a concussion from a branch falling, and the place where all the lizards hang out. Gabe listens and lets it wash over him. Mainly, he watches Tyson—watches how his hands wave as he talks and how bright-eyed he gets when he’s telling a story he thinks is amusing. He probably shouldn’t, but. It’s hard not to watch Tyson.

“What would you have done, if I was busy at 11?” Gabe asks, when Tyson’s shown him the spa and the courtyard where they have fireworks in the winter and in the summer they do acrobatics shows that are apparently breathtaking, you need to see the next one, they’re so cool.

Tyson shrugs. “Gone away again, I guess? Seen if I could catch you at the bar to talk about doing the tour tomorrow? I don’t really know.”

“Not big on thinking ahead?”

“Planning’s for nerds,” Tyson agrees, laughing.

“And Tyson’s anything but a nerd,” Nate inserts. “He doesn’t watch romcoms or anything.”

“Okay, Nathan, romcoms aren’t nerdy,” Tyson snips out, turning to Nate. “And also—you watch them with me!”

“Or,” Gabe puts in, before they can get distracted bickering again. It’s not that it’s not—that Gabe doesn’t mind watching them. Just that…he likes it when Tyson’s paying attention to him. When he’s not entirely caught up by Nate and their obviously very close friendship. “I could give you my phone number, so we could communicate like modern humans.”

“Um.” Tyson’s cheeks go red, and oddly, he shoots a look at Nate. Gabe follows his gaze—Nate’s gaze back has gone stony. “So. The thing is, like, Lex has a super strict policy about us not fraternizing with the guests? Or like, maybe it’s not strict, because we’re supposed to be friendly and all, but anything more is—really not allowed.”

Gabe blinks. So—that makes sense. It’s even flattering. Nate is their chaperone. It’s good, probably. It makes Gabe feel less creepy about their moment, that he wasn’t being predatory or something—that Tyson had a reason to pull away.

It’s a good thing. Gabe doesn’t feel anything about the fact that they really, really, can’t do anything at all. “Okay,” he agrees, slowly. “And phone numbers is more than that?”

Tyson’s smile twists. “I mean—”

“Yes,” Nate interrupts, “Yes, it is, Tys.”

Tyson lets out an irritated breath. “Fine. Yes. Yes it is.” He looks up at Gabe, and there’s something—it’s like he’s asking Gabe to understand. To get what he’s barely not saying. But there’s also—the want to find out what his lips feel like hasn’t lessened at all, and there’s a part of Gabe that wants to just fuck the rules.

But he has a partnership on the line too, and he’s not going to push anything that Tyson doesn’t want pushed.

“Okay,” Gabe agrees, and takes a careful step away from Tyson. Tyson doesn’t look anything but regretful, but Nate looks satisfied, which Gabe can’t help but be a little annoyed about. “So. This tour?”

“Yeah!” Tyson chirps, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Come on, you need to see the site of the great ice cream eating victory of ’17.”

“It was hardly great,” Nate objects, and Gabe follows them out. He only checks out Tyson’s ass a little, which he thinks is pretty impressive restraint on his part.

///

For the next few weeks, that’s how it goes. Gabe works, at the resort project or at his other projects that he can’t put off. He hangs out with EJ and Mikko. And he does activities with Tyson.

Tyson takes him all over—they go hiking more times. They go kayaking, and Gabe doesn’t pretend not to look at Tyson in his bathing suit—the beginnings of his farmer’s tan, the breadth of his chest and shoulders, the bit of fat across his stomach that makes Gabe want to bite it. Tyson definitely notices when Gabe looks, and blushes and turns away like Gabe hadn’t caught him staring moments ago. Nate catches him looking too, and he just glares like Gabe tried something. Which he hasn’t. Because he gets it, and he’s been good.

They go whale watching, and Gabe watches Tyson look pouty and irritated in his windbreaker on the boat, and then more pouty and irritated as Gabe nudges him aside to pay for tickets. It’s because of him they’re doing it, Gabe insists, and doesn’t think about how it makes him feel datelike. How he likes the feeling of treating Tyson to something he likes. Which might be why Nate glares and Tyson scowls and bitches until Gabe huffs and gives up and lets Tyson and Nate pay for their own tickets, because it’s not like it’s his deal. Tyson stays unnaturally quiet until a whale breaches across the ocean Gabe gasps—he knew it would likely happen, but it’s still awe-inspiring. Tyson laughs, though his eyes are big too, and then Gabe gets his own back by making the comparisons—whales just loaf around all day and eat, isn’t that your ideal life? Tyson shoves him for that too, his hands lingering a little too long on Gabe’s shoulders for it to be just friendly. Gabe feels the touch for hours, after.

Tyson drags him to the activities the resort puts on, too, so Gabe ends up doing Zumba on the beach with Tyson cracking up in the background; he does water volleyball that Nate refs and Tyson watches from the bar. Gabe, who is a level of competitive that some people might call unhealthy but he calls motivational, gets pretty into that one. Especially after he resurfaces after a dramatic spike that got his team a point and made EJ, who had tried to block him, growl and swear, and he sees Tyson biting his lip as he looks at him, his eyes dark. Gabe smirks, and flips his hair back, and—

The whistle blows. When Gabe looks over, because he wasn’t doing anything wrong, Nate’s got a look on like he would be sneering if he wasn’t trying to look impartial. “Your serve,” is all he says though, and Gabe wades over to the line.

They win the game. Gabe demands that Mikko buy him a drink after, for that, even though they aren’t actually paying for drinks; he supervises as Mikko hands Tyson a twenty. Tyson takes it with great solemnity, his eyes twinkling as he gives Mikko shit for losing and Gabe shit for apparently existing, and Gabe—fuck he wants to keep Tyson looking like that all the time, wants to just stay in this moment of him and Tyson sniping at each other and having fun and nothing else. But then, when Mikko’s gone back to change, Tyson tries to hand Gabe the twenty.

“It’s yours,” Gabe explains to him. “It was Mikko’s payment for losing.”

“Then you should have it.”

“I had the drink,” Gabe explains, holding it up like Tyson hadn’t made it for him. He thinks he’s going to come out of this with some weird kink for cocktails, with how he’s started to watch Tyson mix drinks, to watch Tyson’s hands doing a lot of things.

“Yes, and you paid me for the drink by staying here, or your firm did or whatever.” Now it’s Tyson’s turn to explain like Gabe’s a small child. “So take the twenty. Or I’ll give it to Mikko.”

“It’s yours,” Gabe insists. He doesn’t get why Tyson’s making it such a thing.

Tyson’s mouth twists, and he definitely doesn’t have that sparkle anymore. His lips look pinched. Gabe would win a thousand volleyball games to bring that smile back. “No, Gabe,” he says, and he sounds serious. “I can’t take your money.”

“It’s Mikko’s—”

“Take the damn money, Gabriel,” Tyson snaps, and shoves it at him, then stalks off to serve someone else like there isn’t a bartender right there. He says something to her—a pretty Latina woman with dark hair down almost to the small of her back—that makes her laugh, then she pats his shoulder and kisses him on the cheek, all casual, and slides past him to Gabe’s side of the bar.

“You need anything, sir?” she asks Gabe, very polite. Gabe slowly releases his hold on the glass. It’s not her fault she’s allowed to touch Tyson, that he laughs at her when he’s pissed at Gabe. It’s not anything. Tyson’s—well, he’s a friend. Gabe thinks he’s allowed to be a friend, at least. They’re allowed to tease each other and make fun of Tyson’s shitty taste in music and movies and all that, even if all the time they do Nate snaps at Gabe like he thinks Gabe really means it. Gabe legitimately likes Tyson, is the thing; if he didn’t constantly want to kiss him, he’d like to really be friends. But—he does want to kiss him, all the time; he wants to touch and do all sorts of things he know he can’t

“No, I’m fine,” Gabe tells the bartender, and forces himself to look away from Tyson. He steals one more look—Tyson is chatting with another employee, the blonde woman from the front desk, and she’s laughing at him too, now. Gabe doesn’t want to see this, he decides. He sets his drink down, and goes back to the suite. He can get some work done, if Tyson’s done with him.

Tyson confronts him the next day, wandering over to him while Gabe’s trying to get some work done by the pool. “I’ve decided to forgive you,” he announces. Gabe manages not to smile back at him, but it’s a hard sell—it’s hard for him not to be smiling around Tyson, he’s discovered.

“Don’t put yourself out or anything on my account.”

“I’m demonstrating how forgiving and gracious the employees here are,” Tyson explains. “We are the epitome of professionalism.” He even manages to say that with a straight face, like Gabe hadn’t seen him and Nate get into a splash fight two days ago that ended in both of them capsizing their kayaks.

“Oh definitely. Exemplary employees, I’ll make a note of it,” Gabe agrees. He looks over Tyson’s shoulder to where Nate is definitely still giving him the stink eye. “Though some of you didn’t get the message about forgiving.”

Tyson glances over his shoulder at Nate, then shrugs. “Mac? He’s fine, he thinks you’re a dick for paying me, but it’s okay. I’ve accepted you are a dick and I’ll still like you despite that.”

Gabe is pretty sure Nate’s been pissed at him since before yesterday, but he lets it go in order to smirk at Tyson. “Despite?” he drawls. Tyson isn’t exactly subtle with what makes him go dark-eyed and squirming.

Like now. “Despite, because, same difference,” he mutters. “Okay, I have to go, because some of us have real work to do.”

“What do you think I was doing before you interrupted me?”

“Spreadsheets? Looking at porn?” Gabe chuckles, and Tyson smiles back. “I’ll see you tomorrow. It’s supposed to be hot, I want to go to the cove. I don’t think there are any expeditions.”

“Sounds good. I have a meeting in the morning and a call at eleven, but I’m free all afternoon.”

“A call,” Tyson mouths, rolling his eyes, then, “I should be back from the last van ride at two, and I’m not on the bar ‘til seven. We can go then.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Gabe can’t help but say, his voice low. Tyson swallows. Opens his mouth, closes it, then he gets up and walks away without saying anything else. As usual, he goes over to Nate, says something to him and hits his head against Nate’s shoulder once; Nate pats his head and says something, smiling. Then he looks up and gives Gabe a look like it’s his fault that he and Tyson can’t sleep together and get this out of their system. Which is only half true. Maybe a quarter.

///

They have their next check-in with Mrs. O’Connor the next morning. So far, the meetings haven’t said anything—they’re working on making the models she wants, and the resort is still getting the information together, and they’re enjoying their time here. They don’t really have a lot of point, but Gabe sort of likes them anyway—it’s easy to forget here that he is really doing a job that matters. Putting on his suit and having a real meeting makes him remember, makes him feel a little bit more like London exists.

“You’re a freak,” EJ tells him, when Gabe tries to explain this, before the meeting. “Why do you want to be reminded that you’re not really on vacation?”

“Because I’m not, and I need this to go well,” Gabe retorts. They both know what’s on the line for him.

“And that’s why you’re getting so much hands on experience?” EJ asks, waggling his eyebrows. Gabe does not blush.

“No hands have gone on anything,” he informs EJ. Mikko snickers. “It’s true!” Maybe not in Gabe’s imagination, but that doesn’t count. That’s between him and his shower. And bed. Which maybe means housekeeping, which—he’s not thinking about. “And I’ve gotten a lot of insight from what Tyson’s been showing me.”

“Insight—is that what the kids are calling it?” EJ asks, still laughing at Gabe.

“Oh, fuck off,” Gabe tells him, then gets to his feet when Mrs. O’Connor walks into the atrium to usher them inside.

They go over the latest figures and their latest work, she updates them on some potential buyers, and then they all stand up and shake hands to leave.

“I hear you’ve been getting some private tours,” Mrs. O’Connor says to Gabe, as she shakes his hand. Next to him, Mikko probably looks terribly guilty because he has no poker face, but Gabe has done nothing to be ashamed of.

“Yes, I’ve been showed around,” Gabe agrees. She doesn’t look mad. “It’s been a great way to get some insight into the workings of the resort and to see everything it has to offer.”

“I’m glad.” She smiles. Gabe doesn’t let out a breath because that would give away that he was nervous, which he wasn’t. Because he’s done nothing wrong. “I should have thought of that myself. But you won’t have a better guide than Tyson, anyway.”

“It’s certainly been thorough,” Gabe agrees. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see EJ physically stop himself from making a dirty joke of that.

But she laughs anyway. “I’m sure. Tyson and Nate would definitely be some of the most disappointed if I had to sell this place.” She pauses. “Well, Tyson would be, at least.”

“That’s the feeling I get.” Gabe looks at her, at how she’s looking thoughtfully out the window. “He really seems to love it here.” 

She smiles at that, pleased. Her hand runs over the table, almost like you’d pet a beloved pet. “I know. He’s been here for—god, almost ten years now? I definitely don’t regret giving him the chance.” Gabe bites down on the urge to ask about _that_ —why would Tyson need a chance? From what he’s seen, despite some clumsiness and a definite degree of unprofessional behavior that he thinks is mainly pointed at him, Tyson’s good at his job.

“You hired him yourself?” Mikko asks anyway. “Isn’t that unusual, for a bartender?”

“His application had to be sent to me for approval,” she tells them, which doesn’t answer anything. “Anyway, as long as he’s not shirking his shifts, which I haven’t heard anything about, I approve. Tyson knows the ins and outs of places like this as well as anyone, but let me know if you want a different perspective.” She nods to them all, then heads out of the conference room to her office.

Gabe asks Tyson about it, that afternoon. They’d kayaked out to a cove, a little inlet with a sandier beach than the others, just the two of them—Nate had an unavoidable shift, apparently, Tyson had told Gabe when he’d met him there, standing a careful distance apart. Gabe had thought they could handle an unchaperoned outing, and honestly he was ready to be away from Nate’s overt hostility. But then he’d had to deal with swimming around in the cove with Tyson, and now he has to watch him lying on a towel in the sun in just his swimsuit, and maybe not having Nate there wasn’t a good idea, not when there’s a drop of water dripping from Tyson’s hair down his chest and Gabe can’t look away, and when he goes Tyson is biting at his lip as he looks at Gabe.

To make up for it, Gabe thinks, Tyson is chattering, nearly babbling—extolling the virtues of the resort, this time the festival they apparently have at New Year’s.

“Why do you care so much?” Gabe asks, when Tyson pauses for breath—he’s learned that’s the only time to get things in edgewise, sometimes. “About the resort—about saving it?”

Tyson pauses, clearly shifting gears. “It’s a good place, I’ve said. Lex runs it well.”

“Yeah, but can’t you just get a job at the resort next door, or something?” Gabe asks. He knows, from plenty of research before coming here, that there are no shortage on the island.

“Maybe.” Tyson shrugs. “Now that I have Rumble Mountain on my resume, it’s possible.” He sounds skeptical. “But—I mean, I grew up in places like this. I know when it’s being run well. When it’s the sort of place that’s worth keeping.”   

“You grew up here?” Gabe asks. He props himself up so he can look at Tyson. He has maybe the stupidest pair of sunglasses known to man on, shading is face; Gabe is a little horrified to realize he finds it endearing instead of horrifying.

“Not here here, but my dad—he managed resorts on the island, when I was a kid, until I was maybe ten. So I was always there. Underfoot, if you asked some of the employees, probably, but I think I made myself useful.” Tyson’s voice is a little dreamy. Nostalgic. It sounds like happy memories. “My sister and I used to basically have the run of the place, as long as we didn’t get in anyone’s way.  And I mean, we definitely did, but no one would complain.”

For all Tyson’s babbling, this is the first time Gabe’s heard of a sister. Or of his childhood, like this. It sounds idyllic, really—growing up in a place like this, in the weird edenic world of the resort.

“Is that why you started bartending?” Gabe asks. “Because you got interested in it here?”

Tyson shrugs. “Maybe? The bartenders always seemed so cool.”

“So you’re still working on that one.”

Tyson wrinkles his nose at Gabe. “Shut up, I’m the coolest.”

“I think if you really are the coolest then you don’t have to say it.”

“You wish you could be as cool as this. Perfect hair, perfect body, whatever. This is where it’s at.” Tyson gestures to himself, laughing like he’s joking.  

Gabe opens his mouth, but nothing he’s about to say is going to be anything other than overt flirting, so he shuts it again. Tyson seems to get it, because he hurries on. “Anyway, bartending’s also good money, so there was that. I know it’s probably not much compared to what you make, but it’s—I mean, it lets me pay my bills and send stuff home and save up, which is more than a lot of people.”

If Tyson’s dad managed a resort, Gabe doesn’t know why he has to send money home, but Tyson’s still talking.

“So what about you?” he asks. “Did baby Gabe dream of spreadsheets?”

Gabe laughs, lies back down. “No, I think I wanted to be an astronaut. And a firefighter. And an NHL star, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” Tyson agrees. “So how’d you get from there to consultant?” As always, Tyson says it with an edge to it, that Gabe ignores for now.

Gabe shrugs. “I was graduating college, and I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do, so I interviewed, and they took me. Apparently I was good at it.”

“Apparently,” Tyson echoes, rolling his eyes. “I wish I could just fall into a six-figure job.”

Gabe rolls over. Tyson’s still wearing the stupid sunglasses. “I work,” he protests.  He works very fucking hard, thank you. “I’m good at it because I work hard and I do it well, and I’m apparently good enough at it to get a partner offer, the youngest the firm’s ever given, so—”

“Yes, I get it, you’re a nerd,” Tyson interrupts. “I already knew that, don’t worry.”

Gabe takes a breath, his head of steam just—gone. “Is it nerdy to be good at your job?” he shoots back.

“When your job is spreadsheets, yes.” Tyson pushes his sunglasses up. Gabe likes him much better like this, when he can see Tyson’s eyes, always just this side of inquisitive with the sharp line of his eyebrows above them. “Be honest, Landeskog. Do spreadsheets turn you on?”

“What?” Gabe barks out a laugh, surprised into it.

Tyson’s barely managing to hold back a smile. “Look, no judgment here. I don’t kinkshame. This is a safe space. You can admit that all those cells get you hot.”

“They do—”

“Oooh, look at that _data_ ,” Tyson sighs, breathy and high-pitched. “Look at all the neat _rows_ and _columns_.”

“Do you even know anything about spreadsheets?” Gabe demands.

“Clearly not, because I’m not a nerd,” Tyson retorts cheerfully. “Oh, the _alphabetizing_ —hey!” he stops, blinking at the leaf Gabe had just thrown at him.

Gabe blinks innocently. “It fell.”

“Fell, sure.”

“From all the trees,” Gabe goes on, gesturing to the trees that are far too far away for anything to have fallen from them.

“Definitely,” Tyson agrees. Then he grabs a stick, and chucks it at Gabe. Gabe barely has a chance to protest that,

“Hey, that could have actually hurt!” before Tyson’s up and running, and Gabe finds he has no choice but to chase after him.

Tyson’s fast but Gabe’s got enough height on him that he’s faster, and he catches him near the shallows with an arm around his waist and enough momentum to swing them both down. Tyson lets out an “oof” when he hits the ground, but then he rolls and they’re wrestling, shoving at each other like they’re ten. Gabe’s spent a boyhood wrestling his brother and he’s got a crucial few inches of reach on Tyson, but Tyson’s as strong as he looks and fights dirty and is surprisingly good at wrestling, and somehow Gabe ends up on his back, Tyson straddling his hips and pinning his wrists down with both his hands.

“Hah!” Tyson crows. Gabe tries to buck him off, but he’s a solid weight above Gabe. “You give up now?”

“Never,” Gabe retorts, half-breathless, from wrestling and laughter. “You can’t make me.”

“Want to bet?” Tyson demands. He’s flushed and panting above Gabe, and his sunglasses were lost somewhere so Gabe can just see his face, his mouth gaping half open and his hair rumpled and his weight on Gabe and—

“Uncle,” Gabe says, as his dick starts to catch up to his mind, or vice versa.

“What?” Tyson shifts his weight forward, more over Gabe’s wrists. If he leaned down just a few more centimeters, Gabe could kiss him, could tug him down over him. If he moved his thigh just a little, Gabe’s dick could—

“I give, uncle, whatever,” Gabe gets out, his voice hoarse. Tyson’s eyes go wide, then his gaze darts down Gabe’s body to his dick, which doesn’t help Gabe’s situation at all.

“Oh, shit,” Tyson swears, low, like he’s just realizing what position they’re in. He doesn’t move—instead, he licks at his lips, and Gabe wants to kiss him at a baseline and right now—

“Tyson,” Gabe says again, strangled, and Tyson starts.

“Fuck, right, sorry.” He takes his weight off of Gabe—and Gabe can’t help it, he rolls them so Tyson lands on his back and Gabe’s pinning him.

“Weak, T-Bear!” Gabe crows him, laughing triumphantly.

Tyson’s pouting. “You’re such an asshole,” he says. “I was trying to be respectful of your space and you—”

“All’s fair in love and war,” Gabe retorts, smirking down at Tyson. Even pouting like this—maybe especially pouting like this—Gabe wants to lean in and kiss him until he’s smiling again, until he’s melting into the ground. There’s no one else around, no one would know—

“I think it’s time for a swim!” Tyson says, more of a yelp. “What about you?”

Gabe swallows. “Yeah,” he agrees, and stands up before he does something stupid. “Probably a good idea.” He offers Tyson a hand to help him up; Tyson looks at it for a second like it might be poisonous, but in the end he takes it, lets Gabe tug him to his feet. Gabe does not think about what his hands feel like, finally in Gabe’s; what they had felt like on Gabe’s wrists, what they would feel like elsewhere—

Tyson drops his hand. “Water,” he says, and wades in.

Gabe follows, keeping a safe distance from Tyson as he ducks under.

Tyson’s just surfacing when Gabe comes up too. Tyson leans back, almost floating. “You know, I broke my leg wrestling once,” he says to the sky, almost thoughtful, and Gabe nearly does a spittake.

“What?” he asks, and Tyson rights himself, grinning.

“Yeah, I was crashing with some of buddies and someone set up a tournament, and there was a thing with a vase. My dad was super pissed, but—thank god for universal healthcare, eh?”

“No, I’m sorry, there was a thing with a vase?” Gabe demands. “What the hell, Tyson?”

“It was a thing!” Tyson protests, and goes back to the beginning.  

They make it back to the resort unscathed. But they don’t go on any more expeditions without Nate, either.

///

“Hey, sorry I’m—what’s wrong?” Gabe asks, when he comes to the bar the next week. They’re going fishing, Tyson told him the night before when Gabe was hanging out at the bar and generally distracting him; Gabe’s pretty excited if he’s being honest. It feels like something that he can definitely show up EJ with. Also, he just got another text from Colin about the new office drama between two of the associates, and Tyson’s been pretty into tracking the drama with Gabe. It’s better than reality TV, apparently.

But instead of Tyson doing his usual thing where’s bickering with Nate or chatting happily with one of the other bartenders, Tyson’s leaning back against the outside wall of the bar, his head tipped back a little. He looks pale—maybe not sick but drained, his usual spirit somehow tucked away. Nate’s standing next to him, a hand on his shoulder, looking at Tyson in a way Gabe gets, like he wants to wrap him up and feed him sweet things until Tyson doesn’t look like that anymore. Or maybe that’s just Gabe projecting, who knows.

“Nothing,” Tyson says, and rubs at his eyes. Gabe thinks they’re a little red. “Nothing, let’s—”

Gabe takes a step forward, pulled by the redness of Tyson’s eyes, his fists clenching. “Tyson. What happened?” He reaches out, for—something, he doesn’t know, to hug him or drag him away for ice cream or just something—but then Nate’s in the way, in between them.

“Come on,” Gabe rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to hurt him.”

Nate snorts, like he doesn’t believe it. “We’re not going fishing today. Go back to work, Gabe.”

“Yeah, obviously, but—he looks like—”

“Does he get a say in it?” Tyson snaps. He’s straightened off the wall, and his jaw is set mulishly as he shoves Nate aside.

“Tys.” Nate sighs. “Come on, do you really want to go fishing?”

“I really don’t want to think about it, okay?” Tyson tells him, still waspish. “And we can go fishing and not—”

“We can do something else,” Gabe suggests. “We could just hang around here. You could come over—you guys could come over,” he amends quickly, “to the suite, and we could watch a movie or something? I could order room service, and—”

“That sounds kind of—”

“Bad idea,” Nate warns, interrupting Tyson. Gabe whirls on him.

“Do you really think we can’t contain ourselves that much?” he demands, stepping forward so he’s more in Nate’s space. “I just want to help—”

Nate steps up to meet him. He’s as tall as Gabe, as big—maybe he’s younger but he doesn’t look it. “Well you won’t, so stop—”

“You two stop.” Tyson interrupts, shouldering in between them. “I do not want to deal with this right now. Nate—thanks, but I can take care of myself.” Nate doesn’t look much like he believes it, but he bites his tongue, crosses is arms and glaring over Tyson at Gabe. Gabe glares back. “Gabe,” Tyson goes on. “Thanks for the offer, but Nate’s right, it probably is a bad idea.”

It probably is, but—“We’ll be fine,” Gabe tells him, and reaches out again. He just wants to touch, somehow, to make sure Tyson is okay. He wants to fix this, whatever it is that’s making Tyson look like this. Gabe could—even if Tyson won’t tell him what it is, this is a way to at least make him feel better.  Nate makes a move like he’s going to stop it again, but Tyson’s firmly in between them, and Tyson doesn’t move away, so Gabe actually manage to get a hand on Tyson’s arm, right over where his sleeve ends. His finger runs across Tyson’s skin, helpless not to even now. “We’ll just hang out, and Mikko and EJ will be there too, and we can get ice cream—”

“Hey, Tys?” The door to the bar opens, and the blonde woman from the front desk comes out. Her eyebrows go up when she sees Gabe’s hand—he drops it immediately, which probably only makes him look guiltier, but Tyson’s red face and Nate’s thunderous one probably doesn’t help. “Um. Am I interrupting?”

Tyson takes a breath, gives Gabe a long look, then turns to her. “Never. What’s up?”

“Oh, just wanted to say in response to your shifts email, if you’re ready right now, they need another busboy at Carmelo’s? Jay got sick and had to go home.”

“Well that answers that,” Tyson says. “Thanks, I’ll take it. Gabe—sorry, we’ll do our fieldtrip another day.”

Tyson looks exhausted and on edge and in no shape to do another shift, and Gabe had wanted to see him, but—it’s not like he can say anything. Not like he has a reason to, other than he always wants to see Tyson. Not with Nate there glaring him down like even suggesting that maybe Tyson should take a nap instead would get his head bitten off. “Yeah. Sure.” Gabe takes a breath. “I can—just let me know.”

“I will.” Tyson smiles, sets his shoulders, and turns to the woman. “Okay, so. Now?”

“Yeah, now.”

“Thanks babe, you’re a lifesaver.” He leans over, kisses her temple, she smiles at him, impish.

“I know,” she tells him. “Okay, come on, let’s get you changed.”

“Was that an invitation?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows with a smile that only looks mostly forced, and she laughs, pats his arm with the sort of easy intimacy that makes Gabe think that it was an invitation, some time before.

“Bye,” he says instead of asking if he’s right, and raises a hand.

Tyson stops to wave to him, smile. “Bye,” he says, and this time his smile looks more real. “I’ll see you later.” It sounds like a promise.

Gabe takes that with him, and not Nate’s somehow triumphant looking face, back to the suite, where he fusses for a few minutes then decides he can’t be there and grabs his laptop to head to the office.

EJ and Mikko are both sitting there, working. When Gabe slams the door in, both of them look up.

“Aren’t you supposed to be fishing?” Mikko asks.

“Yeah, I heard a lot about the size of the fish you were going to catch,” EJ agrees. “Something about how it was going to knock my socks off?”

“You shouldn’t wear socks anyway,” Gabe mutters, and throws himself down on his chair. He has plenty of emails to answer. That will relax him—putting other peoples’ problems in order. “I don’t need to knock them off.”

“So no fishing then,” EJ decides. “Why not?”

“Tyson had to work.” Gabe opens up the first email.

“Tsk tsk.” EJ spins on his chair. “Already being thrown over for work. If your boyfriend’s neglecting you, you know—”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Gabe snaps, then realizes how that sounds. “He’s not my anything. We’re just friends. And he had to work, and that’s fine.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely fine,” EJ agrees. He’s having a lot of fun with this. Gabe should probably put something in his bed. “Mikko, doesn’t he look fine.”

“So fine. So fine he blows my mind,” Mikko adds, which makes both Gabe and EJ gape at him for a second for that reference before getting back to the point at hand.

“I am fine,” Gabe insists. “I’m just annoyed my plans were messed up.”

“You’re allowed to like him, you know,” EJ keeps going. He’s spinning back and forth in his chair now, swiveling like a little kid. “It’s not the end of the world if you’re into him.”

“He’d get fired and I might not get my offer,” Gabe retorts. To EJ, to himself. To the part of himself that’s still wondering if Tyson’s okay, if he should go eat dinner at that restaurant and see if he’s okay and maybe see if he figure out what’ll make him lose that hard edge then tempt him into it “It sort of is the end of the world.”

EJ snorts. “Okay. But it is also okay for you to actually be into someone.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gabe demands, and looks up from his computer. “I’ve been into plenty of people.”

“You’ve been mildly attracted to people.” EJ tells him. “And you’ve occasionally, politely, acted on that. I’ve never seen you actually blown away before.”

Gabe sniffs. “My relationships have all been very nice.” At least, the ones EJ’s seen. In college some of them were more dramatic, but Gabe’s learned better since then.

“Yeah, a nice relationship. That’s the dream,” EJ drawls. Gabe ignores him.

“And I’m not blown away. Tyson’s hot, fine. If we didn’t have good reasons not to sleep with each other, would I? Yeah. But that’s not being blown away.”

“If you say so.” EJ still looks unconvinced. Gabe turns to Mikko, who hasn’t entirely been hiding behind his computer but does look like he’s trying to make himself fit behind it, which is a goal doomed to fail given his and the computer’s respective dimensions.

“I’m right. Tell him I’m right.”

“Um.” Mikko hesitates a fraction too long, and Gabe scoffs.

“Not you too!”

“Not me too,” Mikko cuts in. “I think EJ’s right and your relationships always seem sort of polite.”

“What’s wrong with a—”

“But,” Mikko talks over Gabe, “I think you’re right and it’s a bad idea to get involved here. If the partners find out, you don’t want it to be the thing that makes them say no.”

“If they say no because you’re in—”

“That’s easy for you to say when you just want to make enough to buy your ranch,” Gabe cuts him off before he finishes that sentence, because it’s a ridiculous sentence that doesn’t need finishing. “I want the partnership. I don’t want to risk it.”

“Fine. Then don’t come crying to me when he ditched your fishing date.”

“I’m not crying and—” An alert of a new email pops up in the corner of Gabe’s screen, and he can see Mikko take notice too. Another client back in London, who’s doing an IPO soon and is nervous about it, and now there’s something new, because clients always have something new. “You see this?”

“Yeah. I’m working on a model for here, so—”

“I’ll figure out what we need to do and shoot an email back to Bednar to update him. Let me know when you’re done and I’ll loop you in.”

“Awesome,” Mikko agrees, and EJ lets it drop so they can all get back to work. Which is where Gabe’s mind should be—where it needs to be. Where it always has been.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone dances, and Mikko practices his spy skills. 
> 
> Next chapter up on Thursday, March 14th!

Gabe caves by the evening, and drags EJ and Mikko to the bar just in case Tyson’s working. He’s not, which Gabe doesn’t sulk about even if both Mikko and EJ say he does. And even if one of the bartenders on duty—the woman who often works with Tyson, whose name Gabe thinks is Gabby—smiles apologetically at Gabe when she sees him.

So he doesn’t see Tyson until the next day, when Tyson decides Gabe should try surfing. Tyson seems fine there—he’s smiling and laughing and making fun of how many times Gabe falls down and any hint of that exhaustion from yesterday seems gone, other than maybe the fact that he looks a little tired. Gabe wants to ask—should ask, because that’s what friends do—but Nate’s there the whole time and it feels risky. As in he might get punched.

So instead Gabe just watches Tyson, which it’s not like he wouldn’t do otherwise, and they don’t talk about it. And when they’re on their way back, Tyson breaks off what looks like an intense if wordless argument with Nate and sidles up to Gabe.

“So. Do you really want to see what make this place so special?” he asks. It looks a little like a challenge, the way his eyes are glinting; it makes Gabe think of that first day, how he’d looked at Gabe and Gabe hadn’t been able to say no.  

“Why else would I be doing all this?” Gabe asks, waving a hand.

“For the pleasure of my company?” Tyson asks, which is enough of a truth that Gabe can’t think of a comeback in time. When he doesn’t, Tyson makes a low sound then blinks and swallows. “Anyway. If you really want to know—”

“This is such a bad idea, Tys.”

“It’s important,” Tyson tells Nate, who looks—worried. Not even his usual sort of anger at Gabe, just actually worried. “He has to—it’s the best of here.”

“I know, but…” Nate and Tyson get into another wordless argument, which apparently Tyson wins because he turns back to Gabe.

“So. Can you be cool?” Gabe makes an offended face, and Tyson laughs. “No, I mean—can you be _cool_ about something? That maybe isn’t strictly allowed?”

Gabe thinks about it, but. “Unless it’s illegal or harming the company, I don’t have any duty to report it,” he says slowly.

“This isn’t!” Tyson rushes to inform him. “It’s just—sort of bending some rules. But as long as you’re going to be cool about it, we can show you. We’ll come get you at eleven.” Gabe looks at his watch, even though he knows it’s well into the afternoon. “Tonight,” Tyson corrects. “Dress like you’re actually cool.”

“If it’s that late, can Mikko and EJ come?” Gabe asks. They haven’t been coming on these expeditions for reasons Gabe doesn’t quite want to articulate, but an evening thing—Mikko will kill him if he doesn’t get to go.

Tyson and Nate look at each other again—Nate shrugs, looking far less concerned than he did about Gabe, which come on, Gabe is obviously not going to rat them out unless it’s actually bad, and Tyson nods. “Yeah, that’s fine. As long as they’re cool too, but they’re obviously cooler than you, so—”

“I’ll show you cool,” Gabe mutters, and grabs a pinecone to throw at him. Tyson catches it and throws it back. “Tonight, then?”

“Tonight,” Tyson agrees.

///

Gabe didn’t exactly pack to go partying, but he can pull together a look well enough of jeans and a niceish button down that brings out his eyes and his shoulders. EJ actually makes the biggest fuss about it, that he didn’t bring anything and Gabe should have warned him sooner, but they all ignore him.

Then there’s a knock on the door of the suite, and Gabe opens it. “Hey, we’re—” he cuts off. “Where’s Tyson?”

Nate rolls his eyes. “He’s late, so I’m getting you. Are you guys ready?”

“Yeah.” Gabe turns back behind him. “Time to go.”

EJ looks pretty disappointed when he sees Nate, though not as disappointed as Gabe feels. “Hey, you aren’t Tyson.”

“Really feeling the love here,” Nate tells them. “Tys got caught up with something. Come on.”

He leads them down a new path, one that on his tour Tyson had just gestured at and said, ‘that’s where we live.’ Gabe glances at EJ and Mikko, then shrugs and follows.

EJ pounces on Nate for the first few minutes of the walk, trying to demand where they’re going and what he’s been up to and whether he likes horses, which is always EJ’s first question, but then EJ and Mikko start up their perennial argument about football teams and Nate falls back into step with Gabe.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” he says, not looking at Gabe.

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“You have to—” Nate cuts himself off, shakes his head in frustration, like he can’t figure out the words. “Look, I told Tys this but he’s so—you have to be careful, okay? It’s easy enough to chaperone you guys on a hike but this isn’t going to be that, and—just don’t be a dick.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Gabe tells him, trying to stay polite. Seriously, what does Nate think? Gabe’s going to go out of his way to be a dick to Tyson?

“Ugh,” Nate groans, and then sets his shoulders. “Don’t fuck him.”

“Fuck with—”

“Don’t have sex,” Nate clarifies. He’s a little red, like he doesn’t like talking about it this bluntly, which if Gabe wasn’t busy being annoyed at Nate—he might find amusing.

Gabe draws himself up. He and Nate are about the same height, but Gabe knows how to stare people down. “I don’t think you get to tell me what do,” he says, staying quiet. He happens to know that’s more intimidating.

“I do when it’s my best friend you’re fucking with,” Nate retorts. He’s less quiet. “And Tys isn’t the best at self-control, so—he loves this place. Don’t fuck it up for him.”

Gabe really wishes he could just be angry, but he gets where Nate’s coming from. “I’m not planning on it,” he says again. It doesn’t look like it satisfies Nate, and maybe it shouldn’t, but then Mikko calls from ahead of them,

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Gabe calls back.

“Good. Which way do we go?” he asks, and Nate cracks a smile. When he’s looking at EJ or Mikko, he looks like a friendly, nice guy—like he looks when he looks at Tyson. It’s just Gabe he apparently hates.

“Just follow the music,” Nate says, and now that he does, Gabe can hear it—bass and faint music and the sounds of people. Mikko grins back, and turns left.

The building they reach is a big wood building—not nearly as fancy as anything in the actual lodge, but sturdy and functional, surrounded by littler cabins. The main building is dimly lit but Gabe can hear the music more loudly now, coming from it, and the laughter.

“Here we are,” Nate says, pointlessly, and gestures them up the stairs to the door.

The inside is just a big open space, except it’s filled with people—people Gabe recognizes from the resort, from seeing them work.  But here they definitely aren’t working—the middle of the building seems to be all dancing, the sides people just chatting and drinking, except for the corner where it looks like the bar is.

“The Dogg is in the house!” comes a yell, then Tyson emerges from the crowd to do some sort of complicated handshake with Nate. When he’s done with that, he turns to the other three. “Hey, you made it!”

Gabe—it’s the first time he’s seen Tyson in anything other than his uniform, and it’s—he’s in skinny black jeans and a Queen t-shirt and a backward baseball cap and he looks like such a douchebag and Gabe really wishes he wasn’t this into it. Tyson’s cheeks are flushed and he’s grinning like he’s already visited the bar and Gabe is fine.

“Hey,” he says. Tyson’s not even pretending not to be sizing him up. “So this is the secret event?”

“Guests aren’t supposed to come to our parties, but, hey. Welcome!” Tyson throws out his arms. “And to you guys too.” he holds out a fist for fist bumps with EJ and Mikko, who both do it, EJ looking like he’s amused and Mikko like he’s very into it. “Just like—don’t say you’re guests, okay? Or consultants. People’ll probably be cool, but don’t invite trouble.”

“So we’re secrets?” Mikko looks delighted by the prospect. Gabe might be more into it and the idea that he could come up with a persona if he could look away from Tyson. “Can I come up with a role?”

“Knock yourself out, big guy.” Tyson tells him. Mikko giggles, and immediately pulls out his phone—to do research? Gabe considers asking, then decides discretion is the better part of valor. “Anyone want a drink?”

“Yes please,” EJ says, and Gabe needs something in his hands so he doesn’t try to touch Tyson. “Are you bartending?”

“Nope. Bartenders don’t bartend here,” Nate explains.

“Also we are so not classy enough for bartenders,” Tyson tells them cheerfully. The bar, as they push their way to it, is indeed just a table with a couple cases of beer on it, so more 6-packs that people clearly bought, a handle of vodka, a handle of rum, a handle of whiskey, and some coke and some orange juice. “What’s your poison?”

EJ grabs a Molson from one of the cases; Gabe pours himself some whiskey and coke into a solo cup. “Feels like college,” he says to EJ, who nods and shrugs.

“I think we should be insulted,” Tyson tells Nate. “From what I hear about fancy college parties.”

“Probably,” Nate agrees. He’s gotten a beer himself, and now is craning his neck, looking for something.

“She’s over by the stairs,” Tyson tells him, nearly yelling over the music.

It’s dark and it’s hard to tell, but it looks like Nate blushes. “What?”

“Gabby. I last saw her and Emma over by the stairs. If you wanted to find her and finally ask her out. Or to dance. Or to—”

“I’ve just been biding my time,” Nate mutters.

Tyson rolls his eyes at Gabe and EJ. “Excuse us, I have to take care of this,” he tells them, then he gets a hand around Nate’s wrist and drags him away, towards the stairs.

EJ raises his eyebrows. “Wow, abandoned already.” He elbows Gabe, who definitely was not watching Tyson’s ass in those jeans. “Earth to Gabe.”

“Right. Yeah. Definitely,” Gabe agrees. He takes a long sip of his beer. It’s really shitty, but it’s probably good to get an edge off.

“Hey, aren’t you the guys staying in Suite 12?” comes a voice behind them, and Gabe turns to see the kid who helped with their bags—Tyson, the other one—standing there. He definitely looks a bit drunk already, one arm slung over the shoulder of a ginger next to him and the other over a brunette guy who looks sort of like he’s wondering if he can escape any time soon.

“Not right now,” Gabe tells him, holding up a finger to his lip. Tyson giggles, excited.

“Ooh, okay! These are JT and Kerfy, my roommates.” He shakes the red-head and the brunette in turn as he names them.

Kerfy holds out a hand. “Alexander,” he says, shaking their hands. It’s the kind of handshake that ambitious young men practice among themselves.

Gabe and EJ introduce themselves, then Tyson starts asking about London again and EJ’s in the middle of getting very impassioned about football—given he can’t watch American football in England he’s found a replacement—when Tyson yells, “G!” and detaches himself from JT and Alexander to go jump on someone else.

JT and Alexander don’t look very perturbed. “He’ll be back,” JT says. “So, you were saying?”

But now Gabe’s distracted, and he looks across—and Tyson’s chatting with the group of girls, Nate next to him. Nate’s chatting with the bartender Gabby, who looks a little amused but a little charmed by him, but Gabe’s gaze skates over him, to where Tyson leans in a little to the blonde—Emma—and says something to her that makes her laugh. She reaches out and makes a playful slap at Tyson’s hat, which he evades and tugs on her ponytail in return. Gabe takes another drink. He doesn’t care. He can’t care. Maybe he shouldn’t drink anymore.

“Guys, this is G,” Tyson announces, throwing himself onto JT’s back—he catches him without stumbling, like he expects to have 90 kilograms thrown at him at any given point—and nodding to the guy who’s come over. “Sam Girard. He has opinions about soccer.”

“Really?” EJ eyes him warily, but when Girard starts talking about it knowledgably, Gabe gives him up for lost. Tyson’s still talking to Emma. Nate’s a little closer to Gabby.

“So, Gabe.” The other Tyson says, grinning cheekily at him from over JT’s shoulder. “What sort of drinking games do they play in England?”

“Probably—”

“Are you scaring him?” Gabe’s Tyson—or not _Gabe’s_ Tyson, but the one he, well—asks, nudging JT out of the way. “Don’t scare my guest.”

“I’m being friendly,” the younger Tyson tells Gabe’s. “That’s not scary.”

“It is when you do it,” Alex tells him.

“It is not!” Tyson objects. “I’m very friendly.”

“You certainly are,” JT agrees. Gabe can’t be imagining the way Tyson’s a few inches closer to Gabe than he was before—close enough that their arms are brushing, even though it’s not that packed. Like he doesn’t think he’s imagining how Alexander glances at Tyson, then at his friends.

“C’mon, Josty, let’s go see if you can get Tim to do shotgun races with you,” he says, and tugs at JT’s arm. JT gives him a confused look, but Tyson—Josty—perks up.

“Yeah!” he cheers. “Comphy, let’s go.”

“I’m not going to carry you,” JT retorts, but he’s already basically carrying Josty away.

Tyson grins after them, shaking his head. “They’re good kids,” he says. “But they definitely think they’re at frat parties.”

“And this isn’t one?”

“I think I’m a little too old to be at a frat party,” Tyson tells him, but he looks a little wistful.

“Aw, come on.” Gabe nudges his hip. “You don’t look a day over 35.”

“I am eternally youthful,” Tyson assures him. “And I need another drink.”

He grabs the vodka and pours a generous splash into a solo cup, then adds cranberry juice.

“I thought bartenders didn’t bartend here,” Gabe asks. Tyson shrugs.

“I mean, unless you’re offering, I wasn’t going to get it another way, so that’s more important.”

“I could have handed you a beer.”

Tyson makes a face. “Nah, I hate beer.”

“Who hates beer?”  

“It tastes like piss!” Tyson insists, with the air of someone who’s had this argument before. “And if I could be drinking piss or I could be drinking sugar, I’d choose sugar. Wouldn’t you?”

“It doesn’t taste like piss.”

“You sound awfully sure about that, Gabriel.” Tyson smirks up at him. “Have a lot of experience—oh, thank god, finally,” he says. Gabe hums a question.

“Nate and Gabby,” Tyson says, nodding to where they’re dancing. “Now as long as no rap comes on, we’re set.”

“Does Nate not like rap?”

“No, he likes it too much.”

“Says the guy in a Queen shirt.”

“Excuse me, Queen is high art, I don’t know what you’re implying.” Tyson pokes at his shirt. “You probably think ABBA is the best.”

“ABBA is the epitome of music, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gabe retorts. Tyson’s eyes are reflecting the lights back at him, and the cranberry juice has stained his lips a darker red. He doesn’t know where EJ or Mikko got off to, and Nate’s not there. He gets another beer.

Maybe the shitty beer gets him drunker than he expected, but somehow Gabe doesn’t think so. He thinks maybe it’s just the whole place, the heavy air and the dancing and the way everyone seems to be letting off steam recklessly, without thinking about why or where; he thinks maybe it’s Tyson there next to him, dragging him around to meet people and bickering with Gabe and occasionally brushing against Gabe’s side in a way that’s setting Gabe alight and stealing glances at Gabe like he thinks Gabe doesn’t notice and just—being there and being Tyson and such a bad idea and so very tempting.

“Do you dance?” Tyson asks, and Gabe laughs.

“Not well,” he admits.

“Great!” Tyson finishes his drink, sets it down. “Neither do I. Let’s hit the floor.”

“I just said I don’t do it well!”

“Neither does most people, doesn’t stop us. Come on.” Tyson stops, tilts his head at Gabe. “Or do you need another drink first?”

If Gabe has another drink, he’s going to do something very stupid, probably—something about how pleased and free Tyson looks, none of whatever had weighed him down yesterday evident; something to keep him like that.

“Let’s go,” he decides, and lets Tyson drag him onto the dance floor.

Tyson really can’t dance, but apparently he doesn’t care, flailing his arms and his legs and his ass around in a way that he has to know isn’t sexy but that makes Gabe laugh and so Tyson grins smugly, then somehow people are gathering around them into a circle as some of the actual dancers start breakdancing in the middle and Tyson’s thrown up against Gabe and Gabe can feel his ass rub against Gabe’s thighs and—

“I need some air,” he tells Tyson, and breaks away. He walks—doesn’t stumble or anything—out of the door, to the porch, then follows it along to the side of the building, where no one is.

He tilts his head back against the wall, and breathes in the fresh air. Tries not to think about what Tyson had felt like, laughing against his side, how easy it would have been to just lean down and kiss him right there, where no one knew who they were and he could have—

“Hey, here you are. Everything okay?” Gabe opens his eyes. Tyson’s standing there, looking a little hesitant but not enough to leave.

“Yeah. Just overheating.”

“Yeah, that room’s probably over-capacity. I mean. It’s at capacity,” Tyson corrects, shooting Gabe a sidelong look.

Gabe rolls his eyes. “I’m not a fire inspector, Tyson. I don’t care if you go over capacity unless it means that you need to pay more to get bigger buildings.”

“Then yeah, it’s definitely over capacity. But that’s the fun of it.” Tyson perches on the railing of the porch across from Gabe. Out here it’s mainly the moonlight filtering through the trees that’s lighting him, that and the light from inside, and it catches on his eyebrows and his cheekbones and makes him look fey, somehow, not of this world. It’s odd, because Tyson is so very of this world—of this place, of who he is, without artifice.

“So?” Tyson asks. “What do you think?”

“What do I think of what?” Gabe’s not so drunk that the room is spinning, but it feels like it should be.

“This. Us.” Tyson waves a hand at the building behind Gabe. “I wanted you to see—this is what’s so good.”

“So good?”

“About it here. It’s—the people.” Tyson bites at his lip, but more like he’s trying to figure out what to say. “Like, all the people who work here, we care, about it and each other and it’s—it’s more than just a job, and more than just a place. Most of us have worked here at least for the season for years and we have a place here and it’s a home, you know? It’s super cheesy but we’re a family—a super incestuous one, I guess, because like everyone’s hooked up with everyone else and that’s kind of weird, but it’s still sort of family-esque. Or maybe like, a clan? Is that a thing? Maybe a tribe? I guess you have to hook up in a tribe or else there wouldn’t be new people in the tribe which isn’t really a problem here because of like, birth control, and—”

Tyson’s babbling, and he looks like he’s talking himself into a corner and knows and can’t quite control it and isn’t sure he cares, but he’s so earnest and he cares so much and he looks so good, even or maybe especially sweaty and flushed from dancing and bright-eyed from the vodka, and Gabe—maybe he’s drunk or maybe something about tonight makes him reckless or maybe he’s still annoyed at Nate and that makes him reckless but for once, he can’t make the reasoning matter.

All he knows is that he’s moving off the wall, and then he’s in Tyson’s space against the railing, his hands resting just outside of Tyson’s hips. Tyson stops talking, blinks up at him. “Gabe?” he asks, suddenly quiet for once.

Now Gabe’s made a choice, and he can’t stop it. He puts a hand on Tyson’s shoulder, trails it up his neck, into his hair. “Yeah?” he asks. He feels like whispering. Like any louder will bring people into this moment, bring reality back. “Tyson—”

Tyson licks his lips. “We shouldn’t,” he says, and doesn’t move away.

“I know.” Gabe doesn’t move either. He can’t, now that he’s close enough to count Tyson’s eyelashes. He doesn’t push either, but—

“I could lose my job,” Tyson says, “You could lose your promotion.” But his hand is on Gabe’s shoulder now, pulling him closer.

“We definitely shouldn’t,” Gabe agrees. His finger strokes across Tyson’s jawline, and Tyson shivers, and it hits something deep in Gabe. “We’ve been so good.”

“I think Nate’s too busy to chaperone,” Tyson breathes.

“Hmm,” Gabe hums, his fingers twining in the loose curls at the nape of Tyson’s neck under his hat. He tugs, just a little, and Tyson makes a low sound that’s first cousin to a whimper. Then—“You know you don’t have to, right? This doesn’t have anything to do with my report. You can say no and nothing will change.”

“Yeah no duh,” Tyson says, and a smile flickers over his lips before—“Oh, fuck it,” he decides, and tugs Gabe down the rest of the way.

It’s not a particularly good first kiss. Their noses bump and Tyson sort of misjudges the height difference so Gabe gets more chin than is dignified, but then they resituate and actually manage to line up and—maybe it was worth waiting if it was for this. For how Tyson’s lips feel on Gabe’s and the slide of their tongues, the slight hint of cranberry from his drinks, for how Tyson’s hand tightens on his shoulder and how he presses up into Gabe like he’s trying to climb into him, for the soft noises he makes into Gabe’s mouth. For franticness of Gabe’s desire like it dropped on him all at once, that makes him want to just keep Tyson here and rub off on his thighs or something if he can do that now. Tyson seems like he would be into that, given how close he’s pushing against Gabe, how the hand not steadying himself is making its way down Gabe’s back to his ass.

A cheer goes up inside, and they break apart, panting. Tyson’s mouth is swollen and his eyes are bright and his cheeks are red from flush and from the brush of Gabe’s beard, and Gabe has never seen anything better.

“Gabe—” Tyson breathes, and Gabe can’t let him overthink this, let him regret it.

He takes Tyson’s hand—he means to just hold it, maybe tug Tyson back in, but now that he has it he raises it to his mouth, kisses his palm and then his wrist. Tyson shudders. “ _Gabe_ ,” he repeats, hoarse. “How are you so—”

“Not here,” Gabe decides. “Come on.”

“Yeah,” Tyson agrees, a little blindly—maybe because Gabe had just slipped Tyson’s thumb into his mouth and Tyson couldn’t seem to look at anything else. “Yeah, let’s go. Come on. No one will notice.”

Gabe really couldn’t give a fuck right now, but, “Good.” He takes Tyson’s hand for real now, and pulls him close for one more kiss before Tyson breaks away.

“Let’s _go_ ,” Tyson demands, and hooks a finger in Gabe’s jeans belt loop to pull him after him.

Gabe’s barely sure how they get back to his suite, barely sure of anything until he’s kissing Tyson against the door to his room and falling through it when Tyson manages to get the door open.

“Shit,” Tyson mutters, when he trips over something that turns out to be a shoe, then “shit,” he says again, in a very different tone, when Gabe catches him and takes advantage of his distraction to kiss a line down his neck, all the places he’s tried not to watch.

Tyson lets him for a moment, then he’s fumbling with the buttons of Gabe’s shirts, pulling it off; his hands sliding all over Gabe’s chest and abs and Gabe groans as the scrape of Tyson’s nails go right to his dick.

He’s trying to focus on something else, which is when he realizes Tyson’s somehow talking—“Fuck. You’re so hot, do you know that? It’s so fucking unfair, it’s like the universe asked exactly how I’d like to be tempted and put you there—”

“Shut up, Tyson,” Gabe grits out. Tyson stops talking to grin mischievously at him.

“If you wanted someone who would be quiet during sex, you should have known better than to hook up with me.”

“Trust me, I figured you wouldn’t be able to keep your mouth shut.”

“What fun is my mouth being shut?” Tyson asks. “I do my best work with my mouth open.”

“Tyson,” Gabe growls, and then he yanks Tyson’s hat off and throws it to the side, pulls Tyson’s shirt off and push him onto the bed. Tyson lands on his back with a laugh that Gabe swallows in a kiss, and then—Gabe thinks about having Tyson pinned under him in that cove and how he was squirming and this is so much better, to be able to kiss him like this, to have Tyson arch up into it, his hands in Gabe’s hair.

“God your hair really is this perfect this is ridiculous, I—”

“You’re really calling me ridiculous right now?” Gabe asks, a little incredulous but not really surprised.

“I’m calling the universe ridiculous for having your hair in it,” Tyson corrects. He’s grinning and red-cheeked and twitching a little and Gabe can feel how hard he is against his hips. Gabe just stares, for a second, that makes Tyson go even redder and squirm a little. “Get your pants off,” he orders, his voice hoarse. “I’ve been dreaming about your dick and I need to see if it lives up to expectations.”

“Wow, way to set the bar,” Gabe retorts, but he sits back to unbuckle his belt.

“You’re the bigshot here, I figure you perform best under pressure,” Tyson informs him, watching him with dark eyes. So Gabe puts on a little bit of a show, easing off his jeans and his boxer-briefs slowly, as Tyson stares and chews on his lips.

“Well?” Gabe asks, when he’s naked and Tyson hasn’t said anything for a while. He knows he’s looking smug. He thinks he’s earned it, if he’s managed to shut Tyson up.

“How do you even exist?” Tyson mutters, and makes grabby hands at Gabe. “Get over here, I’ve seen it, now I want to blow you.”

“Fuck, Tyson, you can’t just say that,” Gabe moans, and kisses Tyson again, until Tyson pushes him onto his back and climbs on top of him. “You’re bossy.”

“I know what I want,” Tyson retorts, and as if to accentuate that rolls his ass over Gabe’s dick. “Can I blow you?”

“No, I definitely don’t want that,” Gabe probably doesn’t manage to sound very sarcastic, because Tyson just laughs and scoots down between his legs. Gabe takes one look at Tyson considering his dick, then lets his head fall back because he can’t handle that. “Fuck, Tys—”

“Do I need a condom?” Tyson asks, licking his lips.

“No,” Gabe tells him, “I promise, just—”

“Okay then,” Tyson agrees, apparently that easy, and licks and Gabe groans. Tyson is—he is very good at this, apparently, was not lying about that, and Gabe’s trying to hold it together but it’s Tyson, after so long, and he looks so good with his mouth around Gabe’s dick and his hair sweaty and messy under Gabe’s hand and he’s still half dressed, even as he’s moving in a way that makes Gabe think he’s rubbing off against the bed, and—

“No, come here,” Gabe finds his voice, tugging a little on the back of Tyson’s head. Tyson makes a face.

“What? I’m enjoying myself.”

“I don’t want to come yet,” Gabe tells him. “Come here.”

“Now who’s bossy?” Tyson asks, but he comes easily enough, letting Gabe pull him on top of him, trace the lines of his chest, his shoulders, his arms, all the things Gabe’s seen beneath polos and in the water but never touched. Lets him get his hands on Tyson’s jeans, shove them down—which isn’t easy, because they are some super skinny jeans.

“Yeah, says the man whose pants are always like a second from splitting,” Tyson retorts when Gabe tells him that. “Do you know what it was like having you walk around in those? Your ass in those?”

“Yes,” Gabe says, smug again, and then Tyson looks like he’s going to say something back but Gabe gets his hand on Tyson’s dick and Tyson groans instead, his head dropping into the nape of Gabe’s neck.

“Fuck, yes, Gabe, please—” he babbles, begs, pleads, like he doesn’t even know what he’s saying, but Gabe gets it. It’s been weeks of waiting for this and now Tyson is naked and pressed against him and he can hardly breathe with it.

“Yeah, come on, Tys, come for me,” Gabe murmurs, jerking Tyson off with one hand and smoothing the other through his hair, over his neck.

“You too,” Tyson gets out, “Gabe—you too,” he insists, grinding his thigh against Gabe’s dick until Gabe gets his hand around them both, and they’re both thrusting into Gabe’s fist, slicked with their precum, desperate and needy and—

“Tys, I’m going to—” Gabe gets out, as he can feel it hovering around him, rising in him.

“Good, yeah, come, I want to see, come on Gabe,” Tyson’s still talking, and then Gabe catches his mouth in a kiss and his orgasm crashes over him, devastating and overwhelming.

Gabe falls back against the bed, his muscles to all intents and purposes gone. “Fuck.” His hand is still stroking over Tyson’s back, and he just stares up at the ceiling.

“Gabe,” Tyson demands, and Gabe grins at him. He’s red-faced and looks desperate and Gabe pulls him in for a kiss, as he grinds his hips against Gabe’s thigh. “Gabe, please—”

Sometime Gabe is going to keep Tyson like this for hours, he thinks idly, strung out and wanting and begging for Gabe. But now—now he wants to see what Tyson looks like when he comes. “Yeah, okay, babe,” he says, then rolls Tyson over onto his back, spreads his legs so Gabe can fit between them. “Am I good?” he asks, and Tyson nods frantically. “Good,” he tells him, then sucks him into his mouth. He is, Gabe thinks personally, pretty great at blowjobs, but he also doesn’t think Tyson has the patience to appreciate that sort of skill right now, so he just goes for it, swallowing him down until Tyson’s whining and babbling gets _loud_ and Gabe spares a thought for how it’s a good thing EJ and Mikko aren’t home yet. How he hopes they never get home so he can make Tyson as loud as he can get.

“I’m gonna—” Gabe makes out, among all the other words, and then he just sucks harder, and Tyson comes with a shout.

Gabe leaves him with a nip on his thigh that makes Tyson moan, spent, and then collapses next to Tyson.

“Good job, buddy,” Tyson gets out, and lifts up his hand. Gabe laughs and gives him a high five, then he gives in and pulls Tyson a little closer. “Oh, you’re a cuddler, aren’t you?”

“No,” Gabe says—he isn’t, really, or he never has been.

“Okay, whatever you say.” Tyson pats his chest. He seems half asleep, but he manages to lift his head. “So should I go, or—”

Gabe’s arm tightens around him before Gabe can think of a reply. “If you go, we won’t have time for round two,” Gabe points out.

Tyson chuckles. “Right. Good point. I’m just gonna—quick nap.”

“Sure. Gotta keep up the energy.”

“Yeah, right,” Tyson agrees, and then apparently falls immediately asleep.

Gabe looks over at him—messy and flushed and apparently smiling even in sleep, content and relaxed and Gabe did that, Gabe made him like that—and rolls over so he’s on his stomach where he can take a rejuvenating nap too.

///

“So,” Tyson says the next morning, as he collects his clothes. It’s very early—Tyson apparently needs to get home to change and then to work soon—“We should probably—I mean, we need to decide—was this a one time thing?”

Gabe props himself up in the bed. It is early, but he’s enjoying watching Tyson walk around his room mostly naked. Still, “What do you want?” he asks cautiously.

“It’s still a bad idea,” Tyson says slowly. He has his back to Gabe, picking up his shirt.

“Only if we get caught,” Gabe points out. “We can be careful.”

“So you want to?” Tyson asks, turning around. He’s looking very neutral, which is an unnatural look if Gabe’s ever seen once. He has one sock on, his boxers, and his hat—he’s been putting on the things he found as he found them, because otherwise he’ll lose them, Gabe, obviously—and he looks ridiculous. Gabe wants to kiss him until he’s smiling again.

“Yes,” Gabe says frankly, because there’s no reason not to be. “I mean—we were pretty great at sex, and I like you a lot.”

That gets a smile out of Tyson, and a blush that’s almost shy, which is kind of ridiculous given what they did last night. “We were pretty awesome at sex,” he agrees, then sighs. “God, Nate is going to kill me.”

“Does he really hate me that much?” Gabe asks. Even if EJ’s bullshit about his past relationships is right, he does know that winning over a boyfriend’s best friend is important.

“No, he doesn’t hate you.” Tyson gives a little cry of victory when he unearths his other sock from under Gabe’s shirt. “He just knows I don’t have a lot of self-control to stop myself from doing something stupid like this, so he has to provide it.”

Gabe’s pretty sure Nate actually does hate him, but all he says is, “I’m glad you don’t have self-control.”

Tyson makes an incredulous, pleased sound. “How are you an actual person?” Tyson asks, rolling his eyes. He works on pulling on his jeans; Gabe gets up as does, still naked, so he can tip Tyson’s face up to his when he’s done with his jeans.

“Maybe I’m not,” he tells Tyson, then kisses him. Tyson leans into it, lingers a little, but—

“I have to get to work,” he says, pulling away. “My shift starts soon and I need to give Nate plenty of time to yell at me. And probably Emma, let’s be real. So…” he trails off, looking away from Gabe. Biting on his lip.

“So I’ll see you later,” Gabe fills in. He doesn’t see how else that sentence is supposed to end. “We’re still on for whatever you have planned for today?”

Tyson looks up, and he’s grinning, bright as the sun off the ocean outside, and it takes Gabe’s breath away. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Um.” He presses one more kiss to Gabe’s lips, then scampers out. Gabe can hear him say something to someone outside, so he follows him out—but the outer door’s closing by the time Gabe’s pulled on sweats and gotten into the common room, and only Mikko’s there, nursing coffee at the table and looking like he’s already gone for a run.

Mikko raises his eyebrows. Gabe shrugs. “I—it’s Tyson,” he says, like that’ll explain anything.

Mikko shakes his head. “I’m happy for you, then,” he says, and takes another sip of his coffee. He’s uncharacteristically serious as he goes on, looking at Gabe. “Just be careful.”

“When am I not?” Gabe asks, and goes to make himself some coffee.

Mikko laughs a little into his mug. “With Tyson, apparently.”

Maybe he’s not wrong. But Gabe can still feel the ghost of Tyson’s touch and he aches in the best way, and he can’t bring himself to care.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which a wild backstory is spotted
> 
> Next chapter up Sunday, March 17th!

Gabe was right not to care, he’s decided. The next weeks pass in a haze of Tyson—of kissing him in the corners of the resort where Tyson knows they won’t be seen, of actually being able to kiss him on the beach and peel his swim trunks off of him, of trying out all the things Gabe put a pin in the first time. EJ rolls his eyes a lot and says that it’s honeymooning, but if it is, Gabe doesn’t care—he’s been in love before but it’s never felt like this, this all-consuming need.

Gabe’s not a teenager, of course—he spends plenty of time working, especially because Tyson has to work too. But the expeditions are work, Gabe figures, and now Nate’s given up chaperoning, so it’s just the two of them, and when it’s just the two of them—that’s when Gabe doesn’t have to pretend he isn’t staring, when he can flirt and make Tyson blush and roll his eyes and start to babble, when he can really appreciate how much and how obviously Tyson likes to look at him.

The rest of the time, they have to pretend, at least. But they aren’t fooling anyone, Gabe’s pretty sure—EJ and Mikko know, obviously, and so does Nate, if how he’s looking even more growly at Gabe since that night. Even apart from them, Gabe’s been getting a lot of amused, tolerant looks from the staff, especially when he’s hanging around the bar or he and Tyson are setting off for an expedition. Gabe’s not going to lie and say he doesn’t like it, how they seem to acknowledge that Gabe and Tyson are—something.

Gabe’s thinking about that something as he and Tyson lie in Gabe’s bed, coming down from Tyson riding Gabe until they were both breathless. Gabe looks over at Tyson’s messy curls, at the somehow delicate line of his nose, at the way he’s looking into space at something Gabe doesn’t know. Gabe wants to know. Gabe wants to know everything about Tyson. Gabe wants Tyson to be able to talk to him about it—to want to.

“Hey,” he says, propping himself up on his elbow and nudging Tyson’s side. Tyson blinks and looks at him, smiling when he sees him there like it’s a surprise, and Gabe has to kiss him for that. It’s only when they separate that Gabe reminds him. “We should go out.”

“I don’t think you quite get the idea of a secret relationship,” Tyson replies. “No out—” he points to the window, shakes his head, “Only in.” He points to the bed, nods enthusiastically.

Gabe rolls his eyes. “Not here. In Tofino.”

Tyson pauses, and his eyes go wide. “What, like—out out?”

“Yes, out out. In a real restaurant you have to pay money for and everything.”

“Why, Gabriel Landeskog, you nerd, are you asking me on a date?” Tyson asks. He sounds delighted by this fact.

“No, I’m trying to poison you, actually,” Gabe retorts, but he’s probably belied by how his hand’s resting on Tyson’s chest. “This has all been a cunning ruse.”

“I knew it! You’ll never get me alive.” Tyson doesn’t move, but Gabe still grins, rolls over him properly to pin him down.

“Oh I won’t, will I?” he asks, smirking down at Tyson.

“Only because I don’t want to explain that I broke my leg in a sex injury,” Tyson informs him. “That’s even worse than wrestling, probably.”

Gabe laughs, but he likes where he is, pinning Tyson to his bed. “I still can’t believe you broke your leg on a couch.”

“It was a bad fall!” Tyson protests, but he’s got his wry smile on, like he understands how ridiculous a person he is.

“Sure,” Gabe agrees fondly, even though he’s pretty sure there’s no way to fall off a couch and break your leg if you’re someone other than Tyson. “So. Go to dinner with me, in Tofino. We’ll go somewhere nice.”

Tyson bites at his lip, and his smile fades. “We shouldn’t,” he says slowly. “Tofino’s not even as big as Victoria; it’s barely a city. People might see. They might talk.”

Who cares, Gabe wants to say. Except he knows that’s stupid. “No one will notice,” he argues. “And anyway, access to Tofino’s part of the perks of the resort, right? You need to show me the good date spots. For people who are coming here on romantic getaways.”

Tyson hums. Gabe senses an advantage. “Don’t you want to get out?” he asks. “We’ll go a night you don’t have a shift, you can show me around, it’ll be fun. I want to see where you’re from.” I want to know you, he doesn’t say, but he knows it’s there, and Tyson must too because he bites at his lip, more pleased this time.

“Yeah. Okay,” he agrees. “But—nowhere too nice, Gabe. I can’t—”

“Fine, yeah, plausible deniability.” Gabe will take it, if this is the concession he can get. “You can choose where we go.”

“It’s not—yeah,” Tyson shakes his head. “Okay, yeah, I’ll give you a list of acceptable places, how does that sound?”

“Sounds great.” Gabe bites at Tyson’s nose, because it’s there; Tyson laughs and tugs him down to kiss him again, which Gabe thinks is a very acceptable response.

So the next night Tyson’s off, they go to Tofino—Tyson procures a car from somewhere, so it feels like something real, out of the weirdness of the resort, just the two of them at dinner at a gastropub Gabe picked out of the list Tyson gave him. It’s a good place—not too fancy, which maybe would have been overwhelming and Gabe bets they wouldn’t have been able to get reservations anyway. Gabe’s not sure there’s anywhere too nice in the town anyway; they’d probably have to go to Victoria for that.

But it’s nice here, to sit across a candlelit table from Tyson and not have to pretend to hide how their feet are pressed against each other under the table and how Gabe is watching Tyson swallow his wine and how it brings a pretty flush to his cheeks.

“Have you come here before?” Gabe asks, after they order.

“Yeah, once or twice.” Tyson takes another sip of his wine, looks around. “I took Nate here, when he got a promotion, shit like that. When my sister’s around sometimes we treat ourselves. So you know, you fit right into that.”

“Because I’m a treat?” Gabe asks.

Tyson makes a face. “You’re an annoyance, is what you are,” he retorts. Gabe kicks him. Tyson kicks him back. “It’s another once in a while thing,” he says. “I mean, it’s not like an everyday place, is what I meant.”

“No, I think I’m a treat,” Gabe insists, shaking back his hair. “And so do you.”

“Annoyance, I’m sticking with it.” But Tyson’s smiling. “What’s your favorite place in London?”

So Gabe tells him about his favorite restaurant in London—a tie between this awesome molecular gastronomy place that somehow manages to be both hip and good, and the little hole in the wall café he found years ago that serves food that tastes like home, where he goes whenever he feels too far away and needs some tastes that shouldn’t be so familiar after so many years away from Stockholm.

“That sounds nice,” Tyson says thoughtfully, a little wistfully. “I’m not sure I’ve ever had Swedish food, other than like, IKEA. Which is great but I bet doesn’t count.”

“IKEA is a national treasure, it definitely counts.” Tyson bursts out laughing. “What? It is!”

“Uh-huh, I bet,” Tyson says, still chuckling.

“It is. Is there one here? We can go and I’ll show you.”

“I’ve been to an IKEA before, Gabe.”

“But not with me,” Gabe points out. “You haven’t had the real cultural experience.”

“Okay.” Tyson still seems iffy, but Gabe will prove it to him. He takes a sip of his wine instead, and knocks his foot against Tyson’s, because that usually gets Tyson to smile. It does this time too, and then Tyson starts giving Gabe shit about his turtleneck—“I’m not saying it doesn’t look good, because you know it does, just that you’re a stereotype.” “Okay, go bump someone and try not to say you’re sorry, I dare you” –and that gets them through dinner.

“Dessert?” Gabe asks, because he doesn’t want this to end. Except if he ended it in his bed. Or maybe his bathtub—he’s still wants to put that to use.

“Not here,” Tyson tells him. “We’re going somewhere else for that.”

“We are? I thought I was taking you out?” Gabe asks, taking the check from the waitress before Tyson can make a move for it. He was taking Tyson out, he paid.

“Fine, you can pay for me there. But you wanted me to show you Tofino. Let me show you Tofino.” Tyson grins at him, big and challenging and clearly just a little tipsy, enough to be warm and smiling, and Gabe leans in, puts his hand on Tyson’s.

“Show away.”

///

“Ice cream?”

“The best ice cream,” Tyson corrects, showing Gabe into the store. It’s a quaint old store, the kind of place that could have come out of the ‘50s with no one being the wiser—more of a café than just an ice cream place clearly, with some pastries and a coffee machine behind the counter, and plenty of little tables around the store. “It’s the best ice cream in Tofino, at least. Almost certainly the Island. Probably the world.”

“Have you tried all the ice cream in the world?” Gabe asks.

“I wish,” Tyson sighs dramatically. “Come on, let’s order.”

They go up to the front—Tyson orders some sort of three scoop thing with chocolate and mint and peanut butter, and Gabe gets cookies and cream—then take a seat at a table in the corner to eat.

“So this place you know,” Gabe states, not a question. To get to the pub Tyson had needed GPS, but here he didn’t even hesitate, even as the streets got narrower and less well-lit.

“Oh, yeah. I used to be here all the time. When home got weird and shit, I would come here. They let me sit here for ages, do my homework and mess around and hang out. All the guys would come here. And I worked here, as a teenager, before we had to move to Victoria.”

“That can’t have been a good economic decision by them,” Gabe tells him, watching as Tyson manages to both talk and eat at an impressive rate. “Did you get ice cream for free?”

“Shut up, Mr. Consultant.” Tyson rolls his eyes. “Don’t get high on your own supply, everyone knows that. Anyway.” He looks around, smiling and relaxed. “This was where I first started to want to get a restaurant.”

This is the first time Gabe’s heard about this dream. “You want to start a restaurant?” he asks, prompting.

“I mean, maybe. If I can. Or a bar. Just a place like this. Where people can feel at home, you know? Where they can put away all the shitty things of the world.” Tyson glances away, down at his ice cream. “I mean, I know it’s stupid, and restaurants are the worst investments—”

“It’s not stupid,” Gabe interrupts. “Tys, that’s great. It’d be great.”

“Yeah?” Tyson looks surprisingly shy as he glances at Gabe. “It’s just a stupid dream. I know that.”

“Why is it stupid? You’d be great at it, you have all the experience and you’re—people like you. You’re good at making people feel at home.”

Tyson’s still not meeting Gabe’s eyes, even as he licks up the mint scoop. Gabe watches, a little mesmerized. “Well, mainly it’s stupid because there’s no way I’d get enough money as capital. Even for Victoria, which isn’t Vancouver or whatever, it’d be so—”

“Why not? You work a lot and you don’t pay for room and board, you must have—”

“Expenses still exist.” Tyson’s shoulders tighten. “And money goes home, or to—other shit, and—”

“I could help,” Gabe offers. He still doesn’t see why this is an issue—sure, it takes a lot of capital, but surely Tyson knows people, or maybe his dad still has connections. He knows how restaurants work, at least. “With budgeting, or—”

“I don’t need help budgeting,” Tyson tells him. This time, it’s his voice that’s tight. “That’s not the issue. There’s just not enough—”

“You can always figure something out—”

“Gabe,” Tyson snaps, and it’s a tone Gabe hasn’t heard before—something tight and drawn out. His face matches, as he glares at Gabe; serious like Gabe hasn’t seen him before, except maybe that one time with Nate.

“But I can help,” Gabe insists, but he leans back in his chair, licks his ice cream. This is actually his job—he might as well put it to good use.

“You could help me in plenty of ways,” Tyson retorts, and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively over his still massive cone of ice cream—and Gabe laughs, and the clouds clear.

Tyson starts Gabe talking on the car ride back—about Sweden now, about his family and what it was like growing up there. Tyson tries to be cool, but he’s clearly big-eyed about the different places Gabe’s gone, where he’s lived, so Gabe gives him all the stories he can think of, about what it was like—and then maybe gets caught up a little in talking about the family dog he’d had growing up, because that was important.

“Yes, she was adorable,” Tyson agrees, when Gabe gets out his phone at a stop light to show Tyson an old picture of her. “Do you have pets now?”

“No.” Gabe puts his phone back in his pocket. He looks out in front of them—it’s dark out now, and while the road isn’t abandoned—they’re on a highway—it’s pretty empty, so he can see the forests around them. If the windows were open, he wonders if he’d hear the ocean.

“Why not? Clearly you’re obsessed.”

“I’m not obsessed,” Gabe objects. “And it wouldn’t be fair. I’m away so often, and I work such weird hours.” It comes out regretful, maybe more regretful than he’d thought about before. “They’d have to know the dog-walker more than me.”

“That sucks, buddy.” Tyson takes a careful turn. Somehow Gabe imagined he’d be a reckless driver, but he’s actually pretty good. “But isn’t the point of all the money you make to be able to pay for dog walkers?”

Gabe wrinkles his nose. “That’s not a way to have a dog. It would be something else if I didn’t live alone, but…” he trails off. Glances at Tyson, who’s looking ahead. “Do you like dogs?”

“What kind of question is that? Who doesn’t like dogs?”

“Some people don’t have souls, I don’t know.”

“So you don’t think I have a soul?” Tyson demands, mock-angry. “What does that say about you, that you just went on a date with someone without a soul?

“That people without souls can still be very cute,” Gabe tells him, mainly to see him sputter and blush, which he does.

“So, did you have a dog with people you were in relationships before?” Tyson asks. Gabe thinks he might be trying to be subtle, but if he is he’s failing miserably.

“I’ve never lived with anyone before,” Gabe tells him, which is answering the real question, he thinks. “Or, never a significant other. I’ve had roommates. Have you?”

“Roommates? Yeah. Always.”

“Tyson.”

Tyson smiles to himself, because he’s actually kind of a dick. “No, we never had dogs growing up—can’t at resorts, obviously, and then we just didn’t, I guess. And I’ve never really felt permanent enough to get a dog. And I mean, I have Nate, so that’s basically the same thing as a golden retriever.”

Gabe snorts. “How’d you meet Nate? He’s not from around here.”

“What, that accent didn’t come from the Island?” Tyson shakes his hand, shrugs. “Nah, Nate got himself hired at the resort, and we just clicked. Then he didn’t have anywhere to stay after the season was over, and there was a place where I usually crash, so he came along.” Tyson says it casually, but Gabe’s seen them together—they aren’t casual. And it’s not a casual choice to take someone home with you. Like the way Nate circles Tyson, snapping at Gabe, isn’t casual.

“And you guys are just friends?” he asks, trying to keep his voice even.

Tyson’s hands twist on the steering wheel. “Nate’s my best friend,” he says. “We aren’t fucking, if that’s what you’re asking, like I’ve told you before. And we never have. And if you have a problem with our friendship—”

“I was just curious!” Gabe lifts his hands up, palm out. He’s mostly telling the truth. He doesn’t have a problem with their friendship. He just thinks there’s more to it, probably. There has to be, to explain why Nate dislikes him so much.

“Good. Because Nate’s my dogg, and sorry, but no guy’s getting between that.” Tyson pauses. “Except maybe Sidney Crosby. For Nate, I mean—I don’t doubt he’d throw me over in a second if Crosby told him too. Me, I mean, Crosby’s got that ass and some stellar hockey, but I like my guys taller. And with more personality.” He shoots Gabe a quick sidelong glance. “And blonder.”

“Yeah?” Gabe hums. “So you don’t want me to be polite?”

“I mean, polite’s not a lot of fun. Well, sometimes someone wants me to be polite, that can be fun, but otherwise…”

Gabe grins, and reaches out, his hand settling on Tyson’s thigh. He can feel the muscles jump under his palm. “I can do that,” he tells Tyson. “If you want to thank me…”

Tyson goes red, but Gabe can feel him quivering. “You haven’t done anything for me to thank you for yet.”

“We can fix that,” Gabe says, leaning over so he can say it quietly, low and meaningful.

Tyson very deliberately accelerates.

///

“Hey, where’s—”

“Around back,” Gabby says before Gabe can finish the question, doing that thing the employees all do with Gabe, half rolling their eyes and half amused. She’s worse than most—Gabe thinks Nate has gotten to her. “He’s on break.”

“Thanks.” Gabe gives her his best smile anyway, then wanders around behind the building. It’s been a long day of crises on other projects so Gabe’s been on the phone basically nonstop since ten, and he had to cancel his expedition with Tyson to do it, so he was looking forward to at least hanging out with Tyson at the bar. But making out with him during his break seems good too.

But Tyson’s not at the employee door where he usually chills during his break, and he’s not at the front desk with Emma, where he sometimes hangs out, so Gabe has to go in search. He’s making widening circles around the bar when he hears something in one of Tyson’s little cabins that he and Gabe sometimes hide in, so he wanders that way—

And sure enough, there’s Tyson, visible through the open door, pacing the room, his phone to his ear and his other hand waving around. “No, dad,” he’s saying. “No, I—how? I sent you plenty last month.” His shoulders sag a little as he listens to whoever he’s on the phone with—his dad, presumably. His back’s to Gabe, but Gabe can read him by now, and he can see the exhaustion and what looks like defeat there. “Seriously? How did you—does mom know?” Another pause, then, “no, I know. No, I don’t want to worry her.” He pauses, then. “I’m not doing that, dad! No, I—no—dad, come on, I’m not going to—”

“Hey.” Gabe jerks, a little guilty—maybe he shouldn’t be eavesdropping—then looks over at Nate, who’s appeared like he has some sort of alert out for whenever Gabe’s near Tyson. He looks even less happy with Gabe than usual, and very deliberately shifts so that he’s between Gabe and Tyson. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for Tyson,” Gabe tells him evenly.

“He’s busy.” Nate folds his arms across his chest.

“I think he can say that for himself.”

“He’s on the phone.”

“I’ll wait.”

Nate glances over his shoulder, where Tyson’s still talking, though he’s made his way over to the side of the bed, is leaning back against it as he listens to his dad. Nate reaches behind himself, closes the door of the cabin with a raised hand to Tyson. Then he turns back to Gabe. “I don’t think you should.”

“Because it’ll take a while? Because he only has so long for his break, so it can’t be that long.”

 “Because he’s not going to be in a mood to see you after this.”

“And I think he can say that.” Gabe can convince him otherwise, anyway. “I can cheer him up.”

“Not for this. This isn’t something you get.” Nate sets all 200 lbs of himself solidly, like he’s waiting for Gabe to check him or something. Gabe probably could—he’s not saying he’s massive or anything, but he’s as big as Nate—but that’s not the point. Nate _knows._ He knows Gabe and Tyson are something. Gabe does get this. That’s part of what being together means, that he’s the one who cheers Tyson up when he has a shitty call home, or whatever’s happening. But Nate’s not moving, and he’s still glaring like Gabe’s trying to try something.

“What is your deal?” Gabe demands finally. He is so sick of this. He wants Nate to like him, but if he’s not going to, he wants to know why. “Why are you so against me?”

“Because you could lose Tys his job—”

“No, it’s not that.” Gabe takes a step towards him, straightening up too. If Nate wants to fight, Gabe can bring it. “If it was just that you’d have given up once we got together. It’s more than that. What is it? Are you in love with him?”

Nate gapes. “Am I—what the fuck, no.” He shakes his head, then gets back into angry mode.

“Then what the hell is your problem?” Gabe can feel his hands clench into fists. “I haven’t done anything to you, or to Tyson, so—”

“Because I know how this works, okay?” Nate snaps back, coloring. His angry flush is not nearly as cute as Tyson’s. It makes him look a little like a crab, Gabe thinks angrily. “You guests come in, with your charm and your hotness and your rich European shit, and Tyson falls hard for you because he’s an idiot, and then you go back home and break his heart, and I’m the one who has to put him back together, and I’m sick of it!”

Gabe opens his mouth. Closes it. Nate rolls his eyes. “What, you didn’t think you were the first person this happened with? I told you, I know how this works.”

“I’m not going to break his heart,” Gabe gets out. That’s the important part. The rest—that Gabe isn’t special, isn’t the first person Tyson broke the rules for; that Tyson just does this—it’s not—Gabe knew Tyson had other relationships. It shouldn’t matter if they were with guests or not.

“No, you’re not, because I’m not going to let you,” Nate agrees, taking a step forward. “I can’t stop you fucking, apparently, but—if you really wanted to do what’s right for Tyson you won’t go poking into his shit. Let him have that for himself.”

Gabe swallows. Pulls his anger back on. “If he doesn’t want to tell me, he can do that himself,” he insists. Nate doesn’t get to run Tyson’s life for him—or Gabe’s life, for that matter.

“Yeah, but he’s not going to, because Tys makes stupid decisions when he’s into someone. So I need to.” Nate takes another step forward, like he’s trying to herd Gabe away. Gabe doesn’t move. “So just go now. Before you hurt him even more.”

“I’m not going to hurt him!” Gabe repeats, his voice rising. Then he glances behind Nate, at where Tyson is still on the phone, and goes quieter. “I’m not—why the fuck would I hurt him?”

“Because you’re going to leave!” Nate takes a deep breath, as if to calm himself. “Look, you might not want to. You seem okay, like you maybe even care about Tyson, you probably think you won’t. But you’re leaving in three weeks and Tyson’s still going to be here. That’s just how it is.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

Nate laughs, mean and dry. “No you won’t. I’ve been here before. And it always ends with Tyson a mess, and that’s not fair.” Those last words sound suddenly childish, like a kid yelling at the universe.

“Good, because I’m not—”

“Hey, is everything okay here?” Gabe and Nate both start; Gabe turns to look at Emma, who’s standing at the end of the walk with her eyebrows raised. She looks very calm and put together. Then she glances over Nate’s shoulder at the closed door. “His dad again?”

“Again,” Nate agrees with a sigh. She makes a sad, sympathetic face—she clearly knows what’s going on, which doesn’t make Gabe feel any less out of the loop. Then she looks at Gabe, and a different sort of sympathy flickers over her face, quickly hidden behind her polite guest face.

“It’s good to see you again, Mr. Landeskog,” she says, very pointed. “I hope that this argument won’t affect your stay?” Gabe wants to protest—Nate does open his mouth to protest—but she shoots them both a hard look. “Because I could hear it from all the way at the end of the walk, and I wouldn’t want it to disturb anyone _else_ ,” she continues, and Nate’s mouth clicks shut.

Gabe grits his teeth. He gets she’s trying to protect them—he even gets Nate’s trying to protect Tyson, even if he’s wrong about it—but he doesn’t want to need protection. He wants Tyson. To help him however he needs. Even if he is just another one in a string of lovers. 

“Fine,” he gets out. “I’ll go. But I’m not going to—any of it,” he throws at Nate, who scowls back. “I’ll see Tyson, at least, later,” he says, or maybe threatens, and stalks past Emma, down the path. Now he really does need a drink. But that’s what the minibar is for. Or the other bar on the resort, that he’s never had opportunity to use—this seems like the right time to try it out.

///

Gabe storms around the suite for a while, goes to the gym, and manages to get into a fight with EJ, in person, and Bea, over text, before there’s a knock on the suite door and he pulls it open to reveal Tyson, looking tired and hopeful and smiling at Gabe like he’s glad to see him.

“Hey,” Tyson says.

“Hey.” Gabe steps back, lets Tyson in, closes the door. As soon as the door is closed behind him, Tyson steps in for a kiss. Gabe obliges, and it feels like—he’s still angry, still fuming, but something settles anyway, with Tyson making his normal demanding, needy noises into Gabe’s mouth. Gabe pulls him closer, maybe a little vicious with it. So this has happened with other guests? Not like this it hasn’t.

“Woah, what’s gotten into you?” Tyson asks, laughing a little as Gabe starts biting at his jaw, right to the place on his neck that makes Tyson moan and his knees go out a little.

“Nothing.” Gabe keeps sucking at that place, and Tyson’s breath hitches before—

“Wow, no, you didn’t even take advantage of that opening. Something’s definitely wrong.” He combs his fingers through Gabe’s hair, then tugs. Gabe thinks it was meant to get Gabe to move his head away, but Tyson also knows Gabe likes having his hair pulled, so it misfires. “Gabe!”

“Hm, what?” Gabe murmurs. His hands are sliding up under Tyson’s shirt.

“I—fuck, Gabe, never mind,” Tyson moans, and his hands close in Gabe’s hair with intent. “Yes, please, I—” Then Tyson’s stomach grumbles.

Gabe stops. “Really?”

“I’m hungry!” Tyson protests, though he’s blushing a little as Gabe straightens up, his hands still under Tyson’s shirt. “I didn’t get my break and I came here right from work, I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

It’s nearly midnight. Gabe gives Tyson a look. Tyson shrugs. “I was busy.”

“Okay, we’re getting you food,” Gabe decides.

“Room service is—”

“I think we have some food here.” Gabe opens the fridge to see if that’s true. They appear to have some eggs, half a loaf of bread, some protein powder, and three boxes of leftovers. “Okay. Scrambled eggs okay?”

“Yeah, but I don’t—”

“It’s fine,” Gabe tells him, trying for stern, and Tyson holds up his hands.

“Okay, I guess if you want to feed me, I’ll allow it.” He perches on the dining room table as Gabe gets the eggs out, then goes in search of a pan. “Have you even used this kitchen before?”

“I know how to cook.”

“Said like someone who does not know how to cook,” Tyson retorts.

“I know how to cook eggs,” Gabe amends. “That’s all we need.”

“A real gourmet meal you’re making.”

“If you wanted gourmet, you can make it yourself.” Gabe cracks eggs into a bowl, starts to whip them together.

“But then I wouldn’t get to enjoy watching a hot man making me food,” Tyson tells him. “Actually, if you wanted to take your shirt off, that would be great. Just, you know. To really set the mood.”

Gabe turns to him. He’s tipped his chair back onto two legs, and he’s smirking, pleased with himself.

“I’m not going to risk getting burned just for your weird fantasies.”

“They aren’t weird. If you want weird fantasies, I can tell you about this dream I had, that was about eggs too, actually, and I used them—”

“Please don’t,” Gabe cuts him off, but he’s chuckling as he keeps whipping the eggs. “I have a feeling I really don’t want to know.”

“Makes cooking shirtless seem really non-kinky, doesn’t it? Like something you might want to do?” Tyson points out, like he’s being a reasonable person. “I think it’s the only reasonable response, honestly.”

“And since when have you been reasonable?” Gabe asks. He’s not actually going to do it—he has more sense than that—but he can admit that it feels good that Tyson would want him to.  That he’d like looking at him like that. Except—he wonders how many of Tyson’s other guest-lovers did that. How many of them Tyson’s watched.

“I’m always reasonable,” Tyson protests.

“Even when—”

“Always,” Tyson inserts, trying for firm. “Always always.”

“Three always, it must be true.”

“Exactly.” Tyson sighs, and adds, “Yeah, always reasonable.”

Gabe turns. Tyson’s still smiling, and maybe if Gabe didn’t know him he’d think he did look just teasing and happy, but he knows him better now. There’s still that tightness about him, like he’s holding himself in. A part of Gabe, that he’s not very proud of but he can’t help, is viciously pleased that Nate didn’t get Tyson over whatever was up with his phone call. Take that, he tells imaginary Nate. He’s the one who gets to fix this.

“What’s up?” he asks real-Tyson.

“Hm? Nothing. Where are EJ and MIkko? Are they going to demand eggs too? Because I don’t think I could take them if they tried to fight me for the eggs. I think—”

“They’re out somewhere.” Gabe’s honestly not sure. He also doesn’t think he cares. “Are you okay?” He starts to grease the frying pan.

“No, you don’t get to make me talk about my shit while you distract me from talking about your shit with sex.”

“We aren’t having sex.”

“Fine, with eggs and sex. The sexiest of combinations.”

Gabe makes a face. “That’s gross.”

“Is it? Is it though?”

“Yes it is.”

“To the unimaginative mind, maybe.” Tyson sniffs. “But to someone creative, like me—”

“Creative, depraved—”

“Fuck off and make me my eggs,” Tyson retorts, and Gabe laughs and pours the eggs onto the pan. He concentrates on making them for the few minutes it takes, while Tyson gets up and gets two forks and plates out, moving easily around Gabe except for one cheeky ass-grab. It’s nice, somehow—the two of them moving around each other, getting dinner ready.

Gabe splits the eggs onto the two plates, then takes them to the couch, where Tyson’s already sitting, looking eager as he snatches the plate away from Gabe.

“Haven’t you ever heard of not biting the hand that feeds you?”

“Haven’t you ever heard of being hungry?” Tyson replies around an open mouth, which is objectively just really gross.  “Also, you definitely like when I bite.”

“I do,” Gabe admits, and grins when Tyson goes all sputtery, like he does whenever Gabe says something like that, then takes a bite of his own eggs. They won’t win any awards, but he thinks they’re fine.

“So,” He goes on, when Tyson’s eaten three-quarters of his and is looking like he’s going to slow down. “You still haven’t said what’s up with you.”

Tyson tilts his head at Gabe, like he’s confused by the question. “You really want to know?” he asks.

“Of course.” Gabe wants to know everything about Tyson. He inches over a little, so their knees are pressed together on the couch. “I want to know everything about you. It’s what I’m here for, right?”

“Um. Yeah. I mean. You don’t. Well. It’s.”

“Tyson,” Gabe interrupts, before Tyson hurts himself trying to finish a sentence.

Tyson swallows, looks down at his eggs, then up at Gabe. “Fine. It’s just shitty family stuff.”

“Like what?” Gabe prompts. He sets his half-eaten eggs down, so he can put a hand on Tyson’s thigh, trying to be comforting.

Tyson hesitates for a second, like he’s expecting Gabe to pull away or just move on, but when he doesn’t, Tyson lets out a long breath. “My dad called this afternoon.” Gabe thinks about offering up that he knows that, but Tyson’s still going before he can say anything. “He says they need me to send them more than usual this month, which is such bullshit because they were behind last month too, so it means he’s gotten into something, and—” Tyson groans and flops back against the couch. “I thought we were done with this. He promised he was done.”

“Done with what?” Gabe asks. He’d thought he’d known Tyson, but he hasn’t seen Tyson like this, either, frustrated and nervous and hurt somewhere deeper too. “I thought he managed resorts?”

“Yeah, he _did_.” Tyson takes a bite of his eggs, swallows. “Um. Do you want to know the rest of it? Because you might like me a lot less after it. That’s not about you, it’s just, historically, a lot of people get shitty about it, and—”

“Tell me,” Gabe says. Requests. He tries not to make it an order, or anything like that, but—whatever it is, he wants to know; whatever it is, he doesn’t want Tyson to think he’d ever like him less for it.

“Ugh, fine.” Tyson pushes some egg around. “So, my dad did manage resorts. Until they caught him embezzling from them.” Gabe’s eyebrows go up. Tyson winces. “Yeah, it turns out, he did it from a lot of the resorts around here. Until he finally got caught.”

All the things Mrs. O’Connor said is suddenly making sense. “That’s why you might not be able to get another job at a resort.”

“Yeah. A lot of places see the last name and don’t look much farther.” Tyson shrugs. He’s still not meeting Gabe’s eyes. “I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t hire my dad either. Or anyone who might be like my dad.” Gabe…doesn’t know what to do. What to say. It’s not something he feels often, but he doesn’t—he just wants Tyson to stop looking like that, pale and stoic and so far away from the animated, heart-on-his-sleeve man Gabe’s known. “He didn’t end up going to prison—he pled out and got a fine, I don’t know, I think he probably gave some people up, I don’t want to know—but it’s hard getting a job when you have that sort of record, big surprise, right?”

“As long as he doesn’t have any access to the books, there must be—”

“Len Barrie, do physical labor? Pigs would fly first.” It comes out rancid with bitterness, and Tyson bites his lip again, puts his plate down on the counter. “It’s just such bullshit.”

“Yeah. You could—” Tyson cuts him off, his rant apparently not done yet.

“I used to look up to him, you know? I wanted to be him. He was in charge of everything and everyone and it made him seem so important, so cool. And now—” Tyson springs to his feet, like he can’t keep doing this sitting down. He paces to the picture window, looks out of it. “Now he’s just the guy who’s always looking for shortcuts. And who thinks I’m the shortcut to the money he always needs.”

“That was what the call was?” Gabe asks. Tyson nods.

“Yeah. He must have gotten into something, because apparently my parents might not be able to make their mortgage payment this month, despite the fact that I know they had enough last month because I sent it—and it’s just such—you wanted to know why I won’t ever save enough to get a restaurant? This is why. Because I can’t save anything because if I ever do he just—”

“Tyson—”

“And want to know the worst part?” Tyson demands. He turns to look back at Gabe, and the way he looks—it hurts. “People still say I’m a lot like him. They say it like a _compliment_. He says it all the time, that I’m a chip off the old block. That I’m charming and funny and people trust me and I could—like I’d—”

“You’re not.” Gabe knows that. He knows how to fix this, at least. He gets to his feet too, so he can go to Tyson. “Tyson—you’re not like that.”

“Aren’t I?” Tyson asks. “What about that wasn’t true?”

“You’re not nearly that charming,” Gabe tells him, and Tyson barks out a laugh before Gabe catches his hands. He presses a kiss to the inside of both of Tyson’s wrists, because he loves how it always makes Tyson shiver. “Come on, Tys. You know you’re not that.”

“My dad doesn’t—”

“Fuck him,” Gabe tells Tyson, harsh. “What does he know? You’re not.”

“What do you know?” Tyson demands, half-glaring up at Gabe. “I’ve known you a month, my dad’s known me twenty-eight—”

“I know that you are funny, if not as funny as you think.” Gabe kisses the side of Tyson’s mouth, where usually it curves into a smile. “I know you are charming, if not as charming as you think.” He kisses the other side. “I also know you’re honest to a fault and you can’t lie to save your life.”

“But—”

“Shut up, I’m making a point,” Gabe tells him. Tyson goes quiet but mutinous, even as his face is tipped up to Gabe’s, close enough they’d barely have to move to be kissing. “And I know that you care enough about your job that you’ve spent all your free time convincing me to save this place. And that the sort of person who would send all his money home to his parents instead of saving for his dream isn’t the kind of person who would steal for it.”

Tyson blinks up at him, once—then he’s kissing Gabe, hard, and Gabe lets go of Tyson’s wrists so that he can wrap an arm around his waist to pull him closer.

They stumble back to the bedroom like that, kissing like they can’t stop, and then they tumble onto the bed, and Gabe rolls them over so he’s straddling Tyson. “What do you want?” he asks, easing Tyson’s work polo off, following the fabric rising up Tyson’s abs and chest with his mouth, so Tyson’s squirming and noisy with it.

“Whatever, just—Gabe—” he moans, and when he tries to grab for Gabe’s hands Gabe grabs his wrists and pushes them back down onto the bed.

“You want me to prove I know you?” Gabe demands. To prove that he knows him better, that he can give him this—more than anyone else, more than Nate or Emma or any of his other lovers.

“Sure, if you just keep—fuck,” Tyson cuts himself off when Gabe twists at his nipples. Tyson’s not the most sensitive there, but he’s found that it can add icing to the cake. “Gabe—”

“Look so good like this,” Gabe tells him, as he eases Tyson’s pants off too. “You’re so hot, Tyson—”

“Like anyone can say that, around you—”

“So we’re both happy with what we get to look at,” Gabe concludes. He definitely is—he sits back on his heels so he can get a better view, so he can drag his fingers over Tyson’s stomach and watch his muscles twitch.

“Gabe,” Tyson says, demanding, and Gabe laughs and kisses him again until they’re both desperate and rutting against each other.

“Tys—do you want me to fuck you?” Gabe asks, lifting his head from where he’s maybe working on a mark on his chest.

Tyson swallows and nods. “Yes, good idea, excellent, go—”

Gabe laughs and rolls over to get the lube and condom from the bedside table where they’ve taken to keeping it. He pulls his shirt off while he’s there, kicks out of his pants, and is rewarded by the heat in Tyson’s eyes when he turns back to him. It’s maybe the best thing Gabe’s ever seen, Tyson watching him like that on his bed. “Like what you see?” Gabe asks.

Tyson snorts. “Yes, you’re gorgeous, we all know this, now get your dick in me, Landeskog.”

“Wow, I’m being all sweet and you just want my dick.” Gabe nips at Tyson’s hip in revenge, then coats his fingers with lube, before giving Tyson a questioning look.

“Hey, I said you were gorgeous too, that should—fuck, count—” Tyson gets out before Gabe licks at his hole once—Tyson moans, loud enough that people outside the suite have to be able to hear—then slides a finger in.

Gabe goes slowly, as he fingers Tyson—he might not have known him the longest, but he can give him this, can unravel him and take all the other shit away now, and so he does, until Tyson is red-faced and begging and fucking himself on Gabe’s fingers and Gabe physically cannot stand not being inside Tyson right now.

He pulls out his fingers, and Tyson makes a noise that’s half pained and half anticipatory.

“Finally,” he says, his voice hoarse already. “Taking your time, aren’t you?”

“Didn’t hear complaints,” Gabe retorts. “On your back like this okay?”

“Yeah,” Tyson tells him, lifting up a hand to run down Gabe’s arm like he can’t stop himself from touching Gabe. Then he smiles. “Wow, missionary, so kinky Gabe—”

“I want to see your face,” Gabe tells him, and Tyson’s mouth snaps closed as he laughs, a little breathlessly.

“Gabe…” he sighs, and then Gabe pushes in and Tyson’s breath catches again, and his hand closes over Gabe’s bicep, hard, hard enough to drag Gabe out of the thoughts about how good it feels for him.

“Good?”

“Good,” Tyson says. “Now fuck me, Landeskog.”

“Bossy bossy,” Gabe tells him, but he does as Tyson asks—but he keeps going slow, torturing them both until Tyson’s hand comes up to jerk himself off because, given what he’s babbling, he can’t stand it anymore.

“I think you can,” Gabe tells him, pinning his wrist to the bed and leaning in to kiss all his complaining noises away. It’s so good—a slow easy build into a mountain, the two of them together like being separate bodies is a ridiculous notion, and Gabe rides it as long as he can, until he can’t stand it anymore.

“Okay,” Gabe says then, and reaches down for Tyson’s dick, wraps his hand around it, tight like Tyson likes. “Come on, Tys—”

“He says, like it’s my choice I’ve been—” Tyson somehow still manages to get out, but then Gabe gives his hand a twist like he knows gets Tyson and bites at his lip at the same time and Tyson comes hard, his back arching off the bed, a hand tightening in Gabe’s hair and his eyes screwed up and his mouth moving soundlessly against Gabe’s lips.

Gabe keeps kissing him as he shakes through it, trying not to move more than is comfortable for him, even as his whole body is thrumming and watching Tyson come like that, like he was lost in pleasure.

Then Tyson sags back against the bed. “Fuck,” he mutters, because not even the afterglow can shut him up. “That was—fuck, Gabe.”

“I’m glad,” Gabe tells him, honestly, though his voice is faint with the effort of not just fucking—

“Oh, yeah. Go on, I don’t mind.”

“I don’t want—”

“Want to feel you come in me, Gabe, come on,” Tyson murmurs, threading his fingers through Gabe’s hair and Gabe starts thrusting again helplessly, until he comes, mouthing at Tyson’s jaw.

He collapses onto Tyson as the endorphins buzz through his limbs, still licking idly at his neck. Tyson’s hands don’t leave his hair, which he tells Tyson, sleepily, “feels good.”

“Yeah, and I thought Mac was a dog.” But he doesn’t stop petting Gabe. “How is your hair this soft? This is just impossible.”

“Talent,” Gabe tells him idly, and feels Tyson’s laugh in his chest.

Eventually Gabe has to get up to throw away the condom so he does, and he’s getting a washcloth to clean Tyson up when he catches sight of the big tub.

“Hey,” he says, sticking his head out of the bathroom to where Tyson’s lying, sprawled out bonelessly. Gabe did that, he thinks proudly. He got Tyson that relaxed. “What do you think about a bath?”

Tyson’s head pops up. “Fuck yeah,” he says. “These tubs are awesome.”

Which means he’s tried them before, which means— “Great,” Gabe tells him, and turns on the tap.

It takes some messing before he’s got the whirlpools going right, and in the end Tyson comes in and starts unhelpfully giving him hints that he is sure don’t work, but eventually they’re both ensconced in the tub, their legs meeting wet and slippery in the middle.

“So.” Tyson pokes at Gabe’s thigh with his toe. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you still managed to distract me from your thing with eggs and sex and feelings talk. Your turn. Talk.”

Gabe sighs, and looks at Tyson. He feels stupid talking about. Gabe’s not a jealous person. He’s friends with most of his exes. He’s gone to some of their weddings. He’s had relationships with people who are friends with their exes. It’s not a problem. Except. Tyson is looking warm and relaxed, and the steam’s made his curls flatten against his head and it’s probably not his best look except that Gabe wants him to stay this smiling and relaxed forever, and Gabe still has that nagging thought in the back of his head about who else he’s tried these tubs with.

“I was talking with Nate, and he said—”

“It’s a lie,” Tyson says immediately. “Whatever embarrassing story he told of me, it’s absolutely a lie I would never.”

Gabe raises an eyebrow at Tyson. Tyson raises his back, before making a face and splashing at Gabe, which makes Gabe scoff. “Are you ten?” he demands.

“You would be pretty creepy if I was,” Tyson replies cheerfully. “Anyway, what did Nate say?”

“Um.” Gabe presses his lips together, but Tyson’s watching him expectantly. “He was saying that you did this before. With other guests. You broke the rules with them too.”

Tyson tilts his head. “Yeah. I have.”

“Oh.” Well, it’s not like Gabe had thought that Nate had lied, but he would have liked Tyson to maybe sound less matter-of-fact about it. “Well, I didn’t know that.”

“Oh. _Oh_.” Tyson smiles a little, and pokes Gabe’s hip this time. “Do you feel less special now?”

“I thought we were doing this—I thought you really wanted to hold out and that we were—that you wouldn’t just break the rules for anyone.” Gabe glares down at the water. “Excuse me for thinking that when you made a big deal about the rules for me you would have for everyone.”

“I do. I did.” Tyson makes a face. “Come on, Gabe. After the last time I made a resolution that I wouldn’t again, so maybe I made more of a deal with it this time, but it matters every time. It’s always a risk.”

“Just one you take a lot.”

“Not a lot. Just—a few times before.” Tyson catches Gabe’s ankle this time, tugs until Gabe glares at him. “Stop being dramatic. You knew I had relationships before.”

“I didn’t know you had one every season,” Gabe mutters.

“Oh my god.” Tyson rolls his eyes, and then there’s a splash and Tyson’s up on his knees, in Gabe’s lap, bracing himself on the rim of the tub behind Gabe’s shoulders. It splashes water all over the bathroom, and Gabe makes a face at that, before Tyson tsks and yanks his chin to look at him. “It’s not every season, okay? Sometimes I like people who are staying here. It happens. Then they go home and it’s over, like any relationship.”

“Nate seemed to think it was a bigger deal than that.”

“Nate can mind his own business.” Gabe’s not convinced. Tyson makes an irritated sound and settles more into his lap, warm and wet and a fairly heavy weight over Gabe’s thighs. “Look. No one else ever asked about my dad, okay? None of them wanted to know that. You are special, eh? Does that make you feel better?”

Irritatingly, it does. He doesn’t want it to. He doesn’t want to feel like this.

Gabe keeps glaring for a few seconds, because he doesn’t want to give in that fast. It’s still—he’s risking a lot for Tyson. It doesn’t feel great that Tyson would risk that for other people. But—he’s special. That’s something.

“It does,” Gabe admits finally, and looks up into Tyson’s fond eye roll.

“You are such a drama queen, wow. Yes, you’re the specialest prettiest princess I’ve ever hooked up with.”

“I’m the hottest?” Gabe asks, ignoring all the rest of that as dross.

“That’s what you want to know?”

“Am I?”

“Matter of opinion,” Tyson claims, then laughs as Gabe digs his hands into Tyson’s sides. “Nope, I don’t know, some of them were pretty hot! I can’t make judgments.” He leans over, his eyes bright and eager. “But you could forget about that bullshit and remember that we’re in a tub with whirlpools and appreciate it with me.”

Gabe laughs, and something settles in him. He doesn’t know how Tyson does it—this roller coaster of emotions and this calm. His hands slide from Tyson’s side to his ass. “I could,” he admits. “As long as you say I’m hottest.”

“I’m not—fine!” Tyson yelps, as Gabe pinches his ass. “You’re the hottest, I swear. Now will you please do something?”

“You should be nicer to the hottest guy you’ve hooked up with,” Gabe informs him, and then talks over Tyson’s sputtering. “Now shush, you wanted me to do something and I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Oh you’re concentrating,” Tyson mutters, but then he’s distracted by Gabe’s fingers spreading his ass cheeks, and the conversation such as it was is gone into the splashing of the water around them.

Later, Gabe watches as Tyson sleeps on the bed, sprawled out on his stomach half on top of Gabe. He looks—not young, quite, but easy like this; untouched by all the stress and pain Gabe had seen from him earlier. He’s smiling in his sleep. Gabe traces over the line of his lips, gently, to feel that smile.

You’re going to hurt him, Nate had said. You’re leaving and he’s going to be here and that’s going to break his heart. But Gabe _won’t_. He refuses. Everyone else might have done that, but they didn’t know Tyson like he does, didn’t understand his dad or anything else. Gabe’s special, and he’s going to be better. He’s not sure how yet, but—he will. His job is figuring shit like this out. He can do it for this problem too.

He has to.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which a decision is made. 
> 
> Next and last chapter up on Wednesday, March 20th!

“I don’t get the appeal.”

“You just say that because you were bad at it.”

“You can’t be bad at fishing,” Gabe retorts. “It’s just sitting around waiting for fish. I just don’t see why people like it.”

“Said like someone who caught fewer fish than me,” Tyson throws back, his eyes glinting competitively in the morning sun. It is very bright morning sun—still too early morning sun, Gabe thinks, which is maybe a little why he’s making a big deal about it. They usually get mornings to be lazy together, before Gabe has to sign onto his computer and Tyson has to go work. He likes those mornings. They have a horribly few number of those mornings left before Gabe leaves. There’s no reason to give it up by being on a boat, and definitely not as early as Tyson dragged him out to go fishing.

Still, Gabe’s not going to just let that go unanswered. Even if, technically, it is true. “It’s just luck anyway,” he informs Tyson.

Tyson takes a hand off the motor of the boat to throw a sandal at Gabe. Gabe lets it hit him; otherwise he’s pretty sure it would just go over his shoulder into the ocean. And even if it floats, they’re going too fast to pick it up. “Are you a fisherman?” he asks.

“No.”

“Have you ever fished before?”

“No,” Gabe has to admit, “But it’s just logic—”

“And have you shared your logic with the fish?”

“What?” Gabe snorts. Tyson gives him a look like Gabe’s the one being unreasonable.

“Did you explain to the fish that they should be logical?” he asks. “Because otherwise I don’t know how you could expect them to live up to your expectations.”

Gabe stares. Tyson stares back.

“You do know that’s not how logic works?” Gabe asks eventually, because he’s a little worried now. “Like, it’s—”

“Oh my god, yes, Gabriel, I know how logic works.” Tyson rolls his eyes. “I was just trying to illustrate that fish don’t.”

“I’m not saying fish are logical, I’m saying that fishing being luck—”

“Do you want to go back?” Tyson demands. “Because I was going to show you my favorite place here, but if you’d rather—”

“No, I’ll manage,” Gabe cuts him off, sighing. He’s probably not going a great job of keeping the smile off his face, though. It’s a little weird; he’s been trusting Tyson to guide him for weeks now, but there feels like there’s something different here, in the middle of the ocean—well, he can see the shore, so not the middle middle—with just him and Tyson in the boat Tyson must have borrowed from somewhere. It feels like they could be going anywhere. Like Gabe won’t be leaving, like they can stay together just the two of them on and on into the horizon.

“Stop looking like that,” Tyson mutters.

“Like what?”

“Like your face,” Tyson tells him, which is utterly unhelpful, so Gabe just laughs and tilts his head back to let the sun sink into his face. It’s still not as good as being in bed with Tyson, but he’ll take it.

They drive for another ten minutes—Tyson manages to catch _another_ fish on the go, what the fuck, Gabe doesn’t get it, it should just be chance, Tyson’s not some sort of fish whisperer whatever he says—before they get to a cove, and Tyson kills the engine.

“I thought we were fishing, what are we doing here?” Gabe asks. They aren’t at land or anything, just in the middle of a bay, and Tyson doesn’t seem to be sending them farther towards the rocky beach. Instead, Tyson steps past him to get to the bow of the boat, where he grabs the big metal thing Gabe had carefully been avoiding and drops it over the side—anchor, that makes sense. Gabe grabs the side of the boat as it goes over, just in case. It’s not a very big boat, and that amount of weight change sets them rocking.

Tyson, with a lot less caution, grabs the cooler sitting in the bow that Gabe had assumed was somehow related to the fish. “Are we cooking the fish here?”

“We can’t start fires randomly in a national park,” Tyson tells him, like that’s the main issue, and not that they’re on a freaking boat.

“Oh, yeah. Obviously. That’s the problem.”

“I mean you probably didn’t catch enough fish to eat, it’s true.”

“I caught plenty of fish.”

“Uh-huh. You’d be an awful caveman.”

“I’d be an amazing caveman,” Gabe corrects. He gingerly swings his legs over on the bench so he’s facing Tyson, who appears to have been distracted from whatever’s the cooler by arguing with Gabe. 

“Yeah, I think great hair isn’t what cavepeople are looking for. I don’t see any hunting here.”

“I would be way better with a spear.”

“You are good at stick handling,” Tyson agrees, snickering, because he’s apparently twelve years old. Gabe rolls his eyes; Tyson shoves him back.

“Hey!” Gabe definitely doesn’t yelp or anything similarly undignified, but his grip maybe tightens on the wood of the bench. “Be careful.”

“We’re not going to capsize,” Tyson tells him with a smile that’s irritatingly condescending. “Do you really think I’d risk lunch?”

“That’s lunch?” Gabe glances at the cooler, distracted. The boat seems stable enough now, anyway. “We’re having lunch?”

“No, I brought it here to look at,” Tyson drawls. “Yeah. Lunch.”

Gabe pauses, then. “Tyson, did you plan us a picnic?” he asks. He probably sounds just as gleeful as he feels.

“What? No.” Tyson rubs at the back of his neck, glances away. “I—I just wanted you to go fishing, and it’s easier for us to eat out here then to go back and get something. You get cranky when you’re hungry.”

“No, that’s you.”

“Fine, I get cranky when I’m hungry,” Tyson agrees. He’s still a little flushed. “That’s all.”

“You made us a picnic,” Gabe tells him, grinning.

“It’s just lunch,” Tyson mutters. Gabe doesn’t know why he sounds so guarded about. It’s adorable, he’s into it.

“Aw, Tys.” Gabe knocks his hand against Tyson’s. “You don’t need to romance me.”

“I know, you just couldn’t resist all this.” Tyson waves down at his body.  “Took one look at me and was obsessed.”

“I was pretty jet-lagged,” Gabe agrees, “I was probably seeing things.” Tyson snorts, then swings back around so that he’s facing Gabe and the cooler’s between them. He opens it so he can start digging in it. “Hey.” Gabe nudges Tyson’s knee, because he still looks a little weird. “This is great. I love it.”

Tyson glances up and grins, quick and a little surprised—what, did he not notice that Gabe wants to spend time with him however he can? –and sweet, which isn’t a look Gabe gets often but which he hoards when he does. “You haven’t even had anything yet, maybe I’m poisoning you,” he retorts, though, his face red.

“This would be a really stupid murder attempt,” Gabe points out, letting it go. “You’re literally the only one around and EJ and Mikko know who I’m with.”

“Their word against mine,” Tyson insists. He takes out a couple Tupperware containers, sets them on the bench next to him.

“Also this is the second time you’ve talked about murdering me,” Gabe goes on. “I feel like I should be worried.”

“Yeah, you’ve caught me, this is all an elaborate ruse. I was hired by your rival consultant firm to assassinate you.”

“I knew it.” Gabe grins at Tyson, who grins back. “You’re really bad at it, then. You’ve had a lot of chances and here I am, still alive.”

“Maybe I’m the kind of assassin who likes to play with their food.”

“Are you a cannibal assassin?” Gabe asks. “Because then I’m rethinking lunch.”

“It’s a metaphor, Gabriel.” Tyson sniffs. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Actually, it’s not quite—”

“Shut up, Landesnerd, that’s not the point,” Tyson interrupts, poking at his side. “I really will push you out of this boat.”

“No you won’t,” Gabe informs him, cheerfully. He’s feeling a lot better, now that they’ve stopped fishing, and he can just sit here and appreciate the sunshine and Tyson in a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt.

“I won’t,” Tyson admits, “But that’s just because if I did I’d have to jump in to save you too and then we’d both be all wet and I’ll look sort of drowned and you’ll probably look like some sort of like, merman, and it’ll be a whole thing.”

“If you’re trying to sell downsides to jumping overboard, it’s not really working.”

“Oh fuck off, here.” Tyson hands him a tupperware container. “Eat your lunch.”

“That you planned, as a picnic,” Gabe tells him, still riding a little high on that gesture, and Tyson rolls his eyes and stuffs a forkful of rice into his mouth. Gabe follows suit, in a more civilized manner.

“Hey, this is good,” Gabe says, when he’s swallowed. It’s simple, but more than he expected for a boat picnic thing.

“So surprised, I’m flattered.” Tyson pokes at his, but he’s got the squirmy sort of look on he gets when Gabe compliments him.

“You made it?” Gabe asks. From what Tyson had said, it sounded like most of what he ate came from the restaurants. “I didn’t know you cooked.”

“A little.” Tyson shrugs. “I mean, it’s sort of hard to be around chefs all day and not pick things up. I can’t do much more than this, but…”

“But this is great,” Gabe finishes. Tyson flushes again, clearly pleased. “Is it the sort of thing you’d want to serve in a restaurant?”

“I mean…serving’s all sort of the same?” Tyson looks honestly confused. “I don’t have favorite dishes to serve? Well, soup kind of sucks because you have to balance it, and anything that needs to be in a bowl is—”

“Don’t be an idiot, I mean a restaurant of your own.”

“Oh.” Tyson pulls up short, tilts his head. “I mean, I guess. Probably pub food? I don’t know, I haven’t really thought about that.”

“You should.” Gabe takes another bite. “If you put together a real business plan, it’ll help get investors. That’ll be less you have to save to invest yourself. And food can be a big draw.”

Tyson’s staring at Gabe like he’s something new—Gabe thinks it’s a good look, even if it is a little amused. Then he shakes his head. “What, people want food? Brilliant deduction. That’s what they pay you the big bucks for.”

“Well we write it up on slides, that’s what they really pay me for.”

“I knew it was all a scam,” Tyson agrees, and they lapse into quiet as they eat. Gabe looks around as he does—it’s a pretty cove, small enough that it would be easy to overlook from the ocean, probably. But the trees are majestically huge in the background behind the rocky beach, and behind Tyson the ocean stretches out but the water here is almost still. With both of them quiet like this, Gabe can hear the sounds of the waves against the boat, the shore; the birds in the distance, the wind in the trees.

“So this is your favorite place?” Gabe asks. It’s not really what he would have expected—he’d have thought Tyson would like somewhere busier, more full of his friends. It’s pretty here, but he can’t see what’s different from any other of the coves on the coast.

“Yeah.” Tyson looks around, smiles a little wryly. “I know it’s not, like—I mean, there’s a reason I didn’t take you here first or anything, it’s not special or anything. But it is pretty, right? And there are whales sometimes, which is cool, though it’s not the right season for them—”

“It’s special to you, that’s what matters.”

“You are such a sap, wow,” Tyson mocks. Gabe glares back, though it’s not like Tyson’s wrong, apparently, even if he didn’t know it until this summer. He didn’t say anything he didn’t mean.

“Maybe,” he admits. “So. Tell me what’s special about it, then.”

“Um, I don’t know.” Tyson shrugs. “I just…I found it like, my first year I was at Rumble Mountain, and I’ve never seen anyone else here. It’s just, mine, I guess?” He makes a wry face. “And there’s no cell phone reception here, which can be nice.”

Gabe pulls out his phone to check at that, because he can’t help it; it’s true. Tyson snorts. “I’m pretty sure the world’s not going to fall apart without you for an hour.”

“I guess.” Gabe still wished he had warning, but that’s not the point here. “So you just boat out here?”

“Yeah. It’s not an awful kayak, if I have like, a full day and it’s calm out. But usually I grab a boat I can drive by myself. It’s nice to disappear sometimes, eh?”

Gabe hums, looks around. He sees the appeal, he guesses. More than anywhere else, it feels like it’s just the two of them in the whole world, that everything else—the resort, their jobs, their friends, the quickly impending deadline, everything—has dropped away into some sort of dream.

“So you haven’t brought anyone else here?” Gabe asks, before he can stop himself.

“I mean, Nate knows where it is, because he sort of freaked out the first time I disappeared.”

Gabe tries not to be disappointed about that. “But not anyone else?” he asks.

Tyson glances at him, sidelong, a little wary. “No,” he admits. “But I’ve never had to prove to anyone else that they should keep the place open, either, so I didn’t have a reason to, I mean. And it’s not interesting enough for anyone to ask.”

“Okay, sure.” But Gabe’s grinning, he knows. No one else. None of Tyson’s other guest hook ups got this. Tyson made a picnic for them and is taking Gabe to his special alone place, and it’s warming Gabe better than the sun. “Thank you.”

“For what? Lunch? It really wasn’t—”

“For showing me this,” Gabe cuts Tyson off before he can start going off on a tangent. He sets down the Tupperware, so he can focus on Tyson, who’s looking down at his fork, mainly. “It means a lot, that you would.”

“I know it’s boring, and I should be showing you the exciting things now, really end on a big finale, and I will, your socks are going to be knocked right off, you’re going to be so floored, but—”

“It’s yours, that makes it exciting to me,” Gabe interrupts, and Tyson blinks, then grins, and sets his dish carefully in the cooler.

“There are other ways to make it exciting too,” he says, and gets up. Gabe watches him a little warily, as Tyson deposits himself in Gabe’s lap, torn between the usual desire to get his hands on Tyson and the need to grab on to the edges of the boat to keep it balanced.

“That seems like a really bad idea.”

Tyson grins, squirms pretty convincingly against Gabe. “Probably,” he agrees cheerfully. “Is that a no?”

They don’t have much longer. If Gabe can’t come up with a solution, he wants Tyson to remember him here, always. “If we actually capsize I’m suing you,” Gabe tells him, and yanks him down to kiss the laughter out of his mouth.

////

The next few weeks pass in a flash and take forever, somehow. They pass too quickly for the obvious reasons—Gabe and Tyson find time together, but Tyson is picking up as many shifts as he can to deal with his dad’s latest debts, and Gabe has work too, so every moment feels precious. They pass slowly because Gabe feels caught in time—like they’re living in amber, in this timeless place where everything is different. It’s not a feeling Gabe’s ever felt before, not really. EJ laughs at him when he tells him that, pats him on the back like he’s been initiated into some secret club. Mikko laughs too, but he looks worried. As long as he’s not worried to Tyson’s face—like Nate still is, which Gabe has decided to ignore—then Gabe doesn’t care.

So the weeks pass until—

“We’re agreed, then?” Bednar says, his voice a little tinny over the videochat connection. Gabe looks to EJ and Mikko, who both nod. Gabe gives one final, reluctant glance at his numbers, but. He knows what’s there.

“Yes,” he tells the video screen their boss is projected onto. “That’s our final recommendation. With your approval, we’ll tell the client that at our meeting tomorrow.”

“You have it, unless I notice something between now and tomorrow morning.” Bednar looks up into the camera—he’s good at that, Gabe’s always noticed, wanted to emulate—even on video chats, he knows how to look people in the eye. “Good job, all three of you. This was a challenging assignment, with the on-site requirements. You all handled it well—no distractions that I can see, and there’s a personal note here that really takes it to the next level.” Gabe keeps his face steady, and preemptively kicks Mikko. “I’ll expect you back in the office Monday. Gabe?”

“Yes?” Gabe jerks to attention.

“Let’s get a meeting on the calendar for next week. My assistant will email you some times.”

And there it is. “Sounds good. I’ll let her know when I’m available.”

“Good. Great job, boys. Look forward to seeing your faces again. Mikko—let’s talk later about the Conrad IPO, I need to think about your email.”  Bednar smiles at all three of them, then the connection closes. 

Gabe leans back in his chair. So do Mikko and EJ.

“That’s that, then,” EJ says. “We’re done.”

“Well, we still need to—”

“Shut up, we’re basically done,” EJ cuts him off. Then he grins. “Partner.”

“Congratulations!” Mikko adds excitedly. “That’s so great, Gabe—”

“We don’t know that yet!” Gabe protests, but—he knows. They all know what the meeting is going to be about, and Bednar is pleased with them, with him, and—he’s going to get it. Youngest partner ever.

“Don’t be modest, we know,” Mikko punches his arm. “Gabe! Partner!”

“You don’t have to play it cool, you can do a victory dance on the outside,” EJ tells him, and Gabe flips him off, but he’s grinning stupidly too, he knows.

“I—I’m not jinxing it, but—” he holds out his fist for Mikko to fist bump. “Fuck yeah, we did it, boys.”

“Fuck yeah we did,” EJ agrees, and fist bumps Gabe too, then pulls him into a hug because he likes to pretend he isn’t a sap.

“Okay.” Gabe pulls away from EJ, straightens his suit. “We do need to finalize the presentation for tomorrow, I want it airtight. No reason for the board or the O’Connor kids to complain tomorrow.”

“But first—I think we deserve a nice lunch,” EJ decides. “Right?”

Gabe opens his mouth to disagree, but—Tyson said he’d be on for lunch today. “Yeah, right,” he agrees. “We could go to—”

“Yes, we’ll go see your boyfriend.” EJ rolls his eyes. “As long as you promise to pay us some attention.”

“Hey, he has us forever, he only has Tyson for a few more days,” Mikko points out, packing up his computer. “We can spare him.”

A few more days. It throws cold water over Gabe’s victory glow. A few more days, and then—what?

But—he’s going to be the newest partner. He can figure this shit out. He will. Tyson will have to understand about their recommendation, and then—and then he’ll figure out the rest.

“Watch out Gabby, high rollers coming through,” Tyson sings out, when the three of them come in, still in their suits, because apparently EJ was too hungry to wait.

“Better give them the special treatment, eh?” Gabby throws back, as she mixes the drinks for a group of women in hiking gear.

“Not for these suspicious characters,” Tyson retorts. “They’re voluntarily wearing suits. Who knows what they’ll do next. They might be rabid.”

“Aw, but Tys. I thought you didn’t mind biting,” Gabe replies, taking the barstool in front of him, and Tyson sputters a little and mutters something under his breath as he throws bar napkins in front of all three of them.

“You, be quiet with your—Swedish charm thing,” he tells Gabe. “The whole bar doesn’t need to know what I like.”

“Like you don’t share it with everyone here,” Gabby puts in, flying by him and patting his shoulder.

“Trust me, we already know,” EJ says.

“Gabe—please—” Mikko mocks in a high-pitched attempt at a Canadian accent.

Tyson shrugs, shameless. “Isn’t positive reinforcement something you consultant-types are into?” he grins. “I’m rewarding good behavior.”

Gabe resists the urge to drop his head onto the bar as EJ grins, delighted. “Is that why you’re so loud?”

“Well he needs to know when he’s doing particularly well,” Tyson tells EJ. “Gold star, you know?”

“My man has a lot of gold stars then,” Mikko laughs, clapping Gabe on the back.

“He needs them to cover up his oversize forehead,” Tyson puts waters in front of each of them; Gabe catches him, a hand on his wrist. Tyson’s grinning and easy, despite the bags under his eyes—Gabe knows too well how much he’s been working. If making fun of Gabe’s forehead will make him smile like that, he’ll let him as much as he wants.

“That’s not what you were saying last night,” he says, because he can’t say all of that here, and Tyson rolls his eyes.

“I was not saying anything about your forehead, Landeskog. Just. Your face in general.”

“My forehead is part of my face.” Gabe’s finger draws over the pulse point of Tyson’s wrists, and he feels Tyson’s shiver, then he lets go.

Tyson takes a beat to reply. “No it’s not! Your face is your, like, features.”

“You have literally said my forehead is my worst feature.”

“That doesn’t sound like Tyson,” Gabby inserts. “He doesn’t say you have bad features.”

“Honestly, you don’t, it’s the worst.” Tyson sighs, and Gabe preens a little. “And I may have said that your forehead is the one thing that isn’t perfect, or something like that, but that doesn’t mean it’s part of your face. It means it’s a part of your body.”

“That’s on my head.”

“So is your hair, but it’s not part of your face. Your face is the things you’d draw on a smiley face.”

“Hah! Yes.” Gabe points a finger at him. He can see Tyson deciding not to bite at it. “Exactly. The forehead is part of the smiley face.”

“What? No it’s not. A smiley face is the eyes and the nose and the mouth and maybe the ears—”

“And the forehead, because you don’t draw the circle just around the eyes.”

“I don’t know what sort of fancy European smiley faces you’re drawing, but here in the reasonable part of the world—”

“Oh, America is reasonable?”

“I meant Canada, not the US, obviously.”

“Your national sport involves putting knives on your feet and beating each other with sticks, how is that reasonable?” 

“How isn’t it?” Tyson asks, and Gabe opens his mouth, closes it. “Hah! Yes. Canada is reasonable, and—”

“No, just because it’s _fun_ doesn’t mean it’s reasonable—”

“Not that this isn’t scintillating, but can we please order?” EJ interrupts. “You know, like we came here to do?”

Tyson straightens, and he swallows. Gabe kicks EJ, hard. What the fuck—they’d been having fun. “Yeah, of course, sorry about that,” Tyson tells him, his voice different. The sort of voice he’d had that first day, somehow, bright and empty. “What do you want?”

EJ orders, and Mikko, and then Gabe does, but he smiles at Tyson, tries to catch his wrist again before he goes to put it in, except Tyson dodges.

“Sorry about my idiot friend,” Gabe says, kicking EJ again.

“I’m sorry I’m—”

Tyson shakes his head. “No, he’s right. I have to do my job. Which is to serve you.”

“Bet Landy likes the sound of that,” Mikko mutters, and Gabe kicks him this time.

“Not if I had my way,” Gabe tells him, and Tyson smiles and shakes his head a little.

“Okay, Gabe.” He heads to the computer to put in their orders, which gives Gabe enough time to glare at both his friends.

“What? Like you wouldn’t want Tyson to—”

“Don’t be gross,” Gabe tells Mikko. That’s—it’s too close to all the things they haven’t been talking about, like how Tyson is literally being paid to do things for Gabe, and even if those things have nothing to do with their…extracurricular activities, it doesn’t mean Gabe wants it pointed out.

“Yeah, this is a classy relationship,” EJ agrees. “Haven’t you met the two of them? They’re all class.”

“I am,” Gabe tells him, despite EJ’s sarcasm. “And don’t—just don’t bring that up, okay?”

Mikko rolls his eyes. “Not talking about it doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“No, but it does—hey, Tys.” Gabe grins at him when Tyson comes back over. Tyson raises his eyebrows, clearly not fooled by how Gabe cut himself off.

“Hey. So what were you saying about me?”

“Horrible things,” Gabe tells him, but he can’t keep a straight face as Tyson pouts. “All about what a weirdo you are.”

“Oh I’ve been immune to those since middle school.” Tyson waves a hand, then he leans on the bar, his forearms braced against the wood, his hands folded together. Gabe really wishes they were somewhere where he could take those hands. Or, you know. Lick them. Or do other much less appropriate things with them. “So, why are you in your suits? Your Lex meetings aren’t until Wednesdays.”

Gabe thinks fast. “We—”

“We had a video conference with our boss,” Mikko tells him casually, before Gabe can think about how to phrase it well. “With cameras too big too only wear jackets and pajamas.”

“Oh.” Tyson’s smiling, probably at the image of that—then he clearly hits him. “ _Oh_ ,” he says again in a very different tone, looking at them. Then he must see their faces, see what Gabe knows he has to tell him, and “Oh,” he says a third time, and something in him goes brittle as he jerks back, away from them.

“Tyson—” Gabe reaches out—he needs to touch, to say something—but Tyson shakes his head.

“No, not—I can’t do this here.” His head is shaking frantically, his hands curling into his thighs. “Later. I’ll come by when I’m done.”

“But—”

“Later, Gabe,” Tyson tells him, in that tight voice that means he’s serious. Then he takes a breath, and Gabe can see him doing something to smile again. Gabe strongly considers dragging him away right now, just so he’ll stop pretending. Tyson doesn’t pretend, that’s one of the things Gabe likes best about him. Gabe would pay for the rest of his shift just to make that stop. To get Tyson somewhere away from this, somewhere quiet, where he doesn’t have to—where Tyson doesn’t have to deal with any of this.

Except then Tyson slides away, down to another party that’s just come up, and Gabe doesn’t have a chance to say that. To do anything.

“Smooth, Rants,” EJ tells Mikko. Mikko at least has the good sense to look abashed.

“Sorry, Gabe.”

Gabe huffs. “I was going to be nicer about telling him.”

“Telling him post-orgasm would just fuck with the afterglow, it probably wouldn’t actually make it better,” EJ points out, and Gabe smacks his shoulder.

“That’s not what I mean by nicer. Some of us have tact.”

“Yeah, that’s why he’s partner and you’re not,” Mikko adds, leaning around Gabe to make a pointed face at EJ.

“No, he’s partner because he’s willing to go all in for work, and I want to have a life,” EJ shrugs. He’s never been bitter about Gabe’s probable promotion over him, for all he’s older; Gabe’s always been thankful for it, though he’s never thought about it much. About why he’s going so much faster than EJ.

“Horses don’t count as a life,” Gabe informs him.

“Says you,” EJ replies, unconcerned. “Look at Paul, though—” He pulls out his phone, and Mikko sighs.

“Now you’ve done it,” He tells Gabe, as EJ shoves pictures of his horses at them and starts updating each of them on their latest races, like they all couldn’t recite them by memory by now. Gabe’s pretty sure EJ’s mainly looking forward to going home just so he can see his horses again.

But it gives Gabe time to watch Tyson as he serves the other people at the bar, smiling and chatting like he didn’t just learn that their recommendation wouldn’t be good. If Gabe didn’t know him, Gabe might even believe it. But he knows him now. And he can’t—Gabe’s leaving in four days. He has his flight. And then there’ll just be Tyson here.

Later comes after the evening airport pick ups, when Tyson knocks on the door of the suite. Mikko answers it—then Gabe, in his room, hears him yell, “Gabe! It’s for you.”

“We’re going out,” EJ adds, as Gabe comes into the living room. Tyson’s standing in the doorway, and he looks—his shoulders are folded in on themselves, somehow. He’s always been shorter than Gabe, then any of the three of them, but this is the first time he feels small.

“We are?” Mikko asks.

“We are,” EJ confirms. He claps Tyson on the shoulder as he goes by.

Mikko follows, slower, with a look back at Gabe like he’s wary about something. Then he pauses in front of Tyson, too. “I am sorry,” he tells Tyson, earnest and heartfelt, and Tyson manages a smile for him.

“Thanks, Mikko,” he tells him, and then waits until they’re both out the door before he turns to Gabe. “So that’s that, then?”

Gabe swallows. Tyson’s standing as if braced for a blow, barely in the suite. “It doesn’t make sense to keep it. Maybe Mrs. O’Connor won’t take our recommendation, but—the numbers just don’t add up. She’s either going to have to sell or close, and the only companies buying right now are the international chains. We ran the models a hundred times. That’s the only way it’ll work.”

Tyson takes it like a blow too—wincing at the words. Then he closes his eyes, takes a breath, and straightens. “Okay, then.”

“Okay?” Gabe demands. Tyson’s argued with him every step of the way. “Just—okay?”

“What do you want me to say?” Tyson demands, but the anger in his voice is overwhelmed by something that sounds like exhaustion. “It’s not going to change. I lost. It happens. I knew it was going to happen, it’s not like it ever—” He lets out a shaky breath. “I’m not stupid, Gabe, even if I didn’t go to all your fancy schools. I can read writing on the wall. I’d just hoped that maybe, this time, it might be—I could—”

He bites his lip, hard, and Gabe’s seen him do it for all sorts of reasons but never like this, like he’s trying to keep in tears. “Tyson…”

“Did I help, at least?” Tyson asks, his voice still small. “Did I—I know it was stupid, that little things like what I showed you don’t really matter in the long run, but did it at least—”

“It could have mattered,” Gabe tells him gently. He wants to go to Tyson, wants to hold him or kiss him or ply him with ice cream until he doesn’t look like this, but he’s not sure what Tyson wants. This is Gabe’s fault, sort of. It’s not really, but Gabe would get it if Tyson didn’t understand that. Gabe would probably let Tyson punch him, if it would make him feel better. “We took all those intangibles into account. They changed the models, but—just not enough.” He takes a step forward, he can’t help it. “I am sorry, Tyson. I wish it were different, I do, but I have to do my job—”

“Don’t be an idiot, I know that.” Tyson waves it away. He’s still got that half-broken look on his face, but he still manages to sound derisive. It’s amazing. He’s amazing. Gabe doesn’t know what he expected, but not for him to take it so…maturely. “You did what you came here to do.” He smiles crookedly. “I can’t hate you for that. Even if I want to. Which I don’t, because—I don’t want to hate you. Even with this, I want to remember this summer as happy.”

“I’m glad.” He is, too. He wants this summer to have been happy, too.  

“And it’s not like it’ll be the worst. I can always find work in Victoria. Maybe it’ll be better, really, tips in the city can be better, and I’ll be closer to family. And it’ll be good for Nate—maybe I can finally convince him to go back to school—” 

Gabe looks at Tyson—who even as he loses his home is making plans, is figuring out how to help his friends, who took the blow and stood back up after barely a falter and is already smiling, trying to comfort Gabe—and he gets it. The solution.

“Come with me,” he says.

Tyson stops talking. “What?”

“Come with me. In a few days. Or like, once the summer’s over, if you want.” It’s perfect. It’s obvious. Gabe doesn’t know why he didn’t think of it sooner—maybe because he hadn’t really wanted to think about after, maybe because it didn’t make sense until he knew the resort was closing. Whatever. He’s thought of it now. “Come home with me.”

“Come with you,” Tyson repeats, clearly incredulous. “To London.”

“To London,” Gabe confirms. He can see it already—Tyson in his apartment, making it warm and a home and filled with laughter. Maybe getting that dog, if Tyson will be there. Introducing Tyson to his family, to his friends there, watching them be as delighted with him as Gabe is. Getting Tyson away from his father so he can be free of all that shit.

“Come with you to London?” Tyson repeats again, his voice getting higher pitched. “What the fuck, Gabe?”

“Well, you won’t have a job here anymore,” Gabe points out, frankly. He takes another step towards Tyson. “Do you really want this to end? Us? Because I don’t.”

“You don’t?” Tyson echoes, and his eyes are wide and almost uncomprehending, like he doesn’t get what that means. Like that’s not in script. Take that, Gabe tells every other person Tyson’s ever hooked up with, every other person he’s broken the rules for. He is fucking special.

“I don’t. I want—fuck, Tyson.” The things Gabe wants. “Come with me,” he says again. Tyson’s smiling, not entirely like he’s convinced but like maybe he could be. Fondly, at least.

“And what would I even do in London?” he asks. Logistics. Right. That’s good. That means he’s thinking about it.

“I don’t know.” Gabe shrugs. “Whatever you want. They must have bars there, right? Or you don’t have to work, you can just—I have enough money for both of us—”

“So I’d just live in your house and what, keep it for you?” Tyson asks. Gabe can see it, him and Tyson.

“If you wanted, or I have people who come in and clean—”

“Oh so I’d just lie around all day and wait for you!” Tyson’s voice is rising, going higher. “Just wait for you to come home so you could fuck me?”

“What?” Gabe recoils. Tyson’s—he’s not smiling anymore, and he’s not flushed pleased now, he’s red with what looks like anger. “What, no, of course not—that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean, Gabe?” Tyson snaps.

“Just that—you work so hard at all these jobs and you wouldn’t have to, I could—”

“So what, you’ll just pay off my dad’s debt too, so I—”

“I could.” Depending on how much it is, it might not be a bad idea; at the very least Gabe would be a better creditor than whoever holds Tyson’s dad’s debt now. He probably couldn’t buy a whole mortgage, but—

Tyson makes a wordless noise of anger. “No you fucking couldn’t! What the hell, Gabe?”

“What the hell, Tyson?” Gabe snaps back, his own temper rising. He’s offering them a solution, and Tyson’s just not even considering it. “Don’t you even want to keep this going?”

“That’s not how this works. The summer ends and you go home to your fancy far away life. That’s what happens.” Tyson says it like a fact, like it’s immutable, like Nate had. Gabe wants to shake him.

“And I’m offering a solution,” he tries to explain, tries to make Tyson see.

“No you’re not!”

“So you’d rather stay here and work your dead end jobs forever and get constantly caught up in your dad’s debt than stay with me?”

“Than being your fucking sugar baby, yes!” Tyson yells, and Gabe starts.

“What? Don’t be stupid, Tyson, that’s not what I meant—”

“It isn’t? So you aren’t offering to let me do nothing but fuck you and have you buy me things?” Tyson snaps. “Until you get bored of me because I didn’t go to Oxford or Cambridge or what the fuck ever and dump me?”

“I don’t care—you can work, if you want to—”

“In one of my dead end jobs?” Tyson throws back. “Because that’s all you think of me? No thanks, Gabe, I might not have much but I have my pride—”

“Stop misinterpreting me on purpose!” Gabe cuts him off before he can start on that again. That’s not what Gabe meant—that’s not what he wants. “I didn’t mean that, I just meant that I make more than you so I could help for a little while, and you could—you could save for your restaurant, and—”

“Open your fucking eyes, Gabe!” Tyson yells, and he shoves at Gabe’s shoulders, pushing him away from Tyson. “We are not the same! I am not the guy you fucking—fall in love with and have your happily ever after with! I am never going to get a restaurant because people like me _don’t_. I can’t get the money and I can’t get the connections and it’s never going to happen! It’s just a—a fucking pipe dream so I can pretend that I’ll be more. Like you are—a dream. But you have to wake up from your dreams, and I’ll never be that, but I can at least not be my fucking father and pretend I can.”

“That’s bullshit!”

“And that’s easy for someone with a six figure salary to say.”

Gabe glares at Tyson. Tyson glares back, their breaths loud in the suite after all the yelling. Tyson’s being stubborn and unfair and won’t see that Gabe’s fixed this, and he’s red-faced and Gabe wants to shake him until he just gets it, but—

“No,” Gabe says, trying to be even, “That is bullshit. I love you.” It’s the first time he’s said the words, though maybe not the first time he’s thought them. But he means it. He knows that. It’s nothing like what he thought love was, nothing like he’s loved anyone before, but—what else could twist him up like this?

Tyson almost smiles. “No you don’t,” he tells Gabe, matter-of-fact. Regretful, and like it hurts, but—sure. “You don’t know me. You think you love the—the idea of me, someone you can fuck around with on your vacation, the kid from the wrong side of the tracks you can save, or fix, or whatever. But you’ve known me three months, Gabe. You don’t know my life. And you won’t love me in real life.”

“Sure I—”

“No, you won’t, and I don’t want to be there to see that. And I definitely don’t want to be in fucking London to see it.” Tyson snorts, almost laughing. “London, Gabe? What the fuck. Why would I go to London?”

“Because I’d be there!”

“And I’m telling you, that can’t be enough!” Tyson snaps back. His chest is heaving. “How can you be so fucking naïve, Gabe?”

“So now it’s naïve to believe in being with someone you—”

“Stop it! Stop saying that.”

“It’s true!”

“No it’s not! Or it won’t be.” Some of the anger’s drained out of Tyson’s face, and what remains is just that exhaustion. “Come on, Gabe. Let’s just have your last few days here without lying to each other, and then we can—”

“I don’t much see the point,” Gabe says stiffly, trying to draw on all the corporate training he has—every time he’s been yelled at in public, every time something’s hurt and he can’t let it show. Every time he wants to rage and can’t, because it won’t help. “Apparently we don’t have a future.”

“What? Gabe, you knew that going in—” Tyson tilts his head, and he takes what seems like is going to be a step forward. “Now we can have hot angry sex, then make up sex, and then you can apologize to me for shutting down my home, and we can—”

The mere thought of that makes Gabe nauseous. Fucking Tyson, knowing he’s just—knowing that Tyson cares more about his pride and whatever his ‘reality’ is than Gabe and what they have. That Gabe had thought this was real, and Tyson had clearly thought this was nothing more than another summer fling. Didn’t want this to be any more.

“Are you coming to London with me?” Gabe cuts Tyson off.

Tyson sighs. “No, Gabe, I said—”

“Then no. Get out.”

“What?” Tyson looks honestly surprised. “Gabe—”

“Get out,” Gabe growls. “You clearly don’t care about this, so go—fuck one of the other people here you’re fucking.”

Tyson’s eyes snap, clearly offended by that, which is bullshit. “I am not—”

“Or that you have fucked, I don’t care!” Gabe’s yelling again, huh. “Just leave!”

“Fine!” Tyson yells back. “Fuck you too.” He whirls around, and then—then the door slams and he’s gone.

Gabe stares at the closed door, then—“Shit!” he yells, and grabs the thing closest to him—a glass someone had left out—and pitches it at the door. It shatters.

///

EJ and Mikko find him there like that, some time later—cleaning up the broken glass. If his eyes are red, they don’t comment. Instead,

“Shit,” EJ says, strangely gentle. “Didn’t go well?”

“No,” Gabe says, tightly.

“If he doesn’t understand that you were just—”

“It’ll be okay,” EJ interrupts Mikko. “Come on, Gabe. Why don’t you go to bed? We’ll clean this up.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“Go to bed,” EJ says, again in that gentle tone. Mikko’s hands are on his shoulders, pulling him up. “We have a presentation in the morning, you need sleep for that.”

Right. Work. The thing they came here to do. The thing that matters. “We should rehearse.”

“Bed, partner-to-be,” Mikko tells him, tugging him in the direction of his bedroom. “It’ll be better in the morning.”

///

It’s not better in the morning. They do their presentation, tell the board and Mrs. O’Connor and her kids the bad news. The kids clearly don’t care. Mrs. O’Connor takes it with a steely nod and nothing showing beyond a rueful sigh and a stroke of the wood.

After, she shakes their hands and thanks them for a job well done. Gabe smiles and says all the right things. She assures them that despite the bad news she still appreciates the work they put in and hopes they enjoyed their stay. Gabe manages not to laugh at that.

They pack up their suite. It’s not that much to pack, in the end. In the end, the only hard part is the pile of notes from Tyson Gabe’s collected—where they’ll meet and when, little bits of snark and mockery and, later, fondness. Little bits of Tyson, that Gabe had thought was real. Was his.

Gabe looks at them for a long minute. Then he picks up the whole pile, takes them to the recycling in the kitchen, and drops them all there.

///

EJ and Mikko might go out that evening. Gabe doesn’t.

///

Someone else is driving them to the ferry. It was supposed to be Tyson and Nate, Gabe knows, because Tyson had told him, but he must have traded with someone, even though their flight is so early no one else is on the ride. Gabe can’t find it in him to feel thankful for that. For anything.

Except—the van’s being loaded when there’s a noise behind him and Gabe sees Tyson, standing on the front steps with Emma’s hand on his shoulder, like she’s keeping him there. Gabe can’t bring himself to look at it too hard.

“Gabe,” Tyson says, softly. “Don’t be such a drama queen, come on, don’t leave it like this—”

Gabe looks at him—like he’d seen him the first time, in his uniform, his hair hidden by a backwards baseball cap, his lips pursed, his chin jutting out in a challenge, that tilt to his face like there’s always a smile just waiting there. That place on his neck that made him go boneless; the strength of him that had pinned Gabe down and held up so much.

“Are you coming to London?” he asks. Emma doesn’t react—she must know.

“Of course not, but—”

“Then thank you for a lovely stay,” Gabe tells him, formal and stiff, and Tyson flinches. Then he straightens his shoulders.

“You’re very welcome,” he says, clearly trying to be formal but only coming out biting. “Enjoy your real life.”

Then he backs up—he backs into Emma, then corrects, until he’s a few meters away—then he turns and walks quickly away, so Gabe only sees his back, disappearing into one of the paths, into the rising sun.

Emma’s eyes narrow. “You are really fucking lucky that Tyson didn’t want Nate to get fired so he wouldn’t let him come,” she tells Gabe, though she looks about to punch him too. “You don’t have to be a dick about it too.”

“I don’t have to be a dick?” Gabe snaps. “I’m not the one who wouldn’t fight for this.”

She snorts. “You call that fighting for it?” she asks, then shakes her head, so her hair falls over her shoulder. She’s very pretty. Gabe wonders despite himself if Tyson was in her bed last night—if he’d found solace that quickly.

Then she smiles, customer service face on. “Have a nice flight,” he says, in a tone that makes Gabe thinks she’d rather the plane crash, and she goes up the stairs to the desk.

“Gabe.” EJ’s hand is on his shoulder again. “It’s time to go.”

Gabe takes another look back at the resort—at the rising sun sparkling over the ocean, at the trees, at all the places Tyson had shown him. Then he turns away from it. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Let’s go.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Gabe is, as always Dramatic. 
> 
> And we're done! Thanks for reading--I hope you enjoy!

“Thank you for coming in to see me,” Bednar says, as Gabe takes a seat in his office. It’s been a few days, and Gabe’s still adjusting back to the sleek, glass and chrome lines of the London skyscraper offices. Everything in the office is sharp and bright and Gabe can finally feel the fun and adrenaline of it zinging through him again, like it hasn’t in the past few days. “Sit down.”

Gabe takes a seat, but doesn’t relax, even if Bednar looks relaxed behind his desk. “I’ll cut right to the chase,” Bednar says. He folds his hands on top of a file on his desk. “You know why you’re here.”

“I have an idea,” Gabe acknowledges.

“Good. You have an impressive record, and this last job you definitely didn’t disappoint. I’ll admit, some of the partners were a little on the fence, before this.” Gabe hides any reaction. Fuck them, on the fence. “They worried about you losing the forest for the trees, sometimes—that sometimes you focused in too hard for the sort of big picture work that being a partner requires. But this last project really disproved them. You balanced the nuts and bolts we need to have and an intimate knowledge of the workings of the place with your usual panache.”

Gabe smiles, if dryly. Tyson had wondered if he changed things? Well. He had changed this, apparently. He’d gotten Gabe his job. “Thank you.”

“Great.” Bednar smiles again, warm and welcoming—the perfect client smile. “There’s a partner meeting next month. I suggest that you plan to be there. And start thinking about what demands you might want to make.”

Gabe’s breath catches, for a second—triumph and pride jumping in his throat—then he presses it down. “Thank you, I will,” he says, and gets up. Bednar does too, shakes his hand.

“It’ll be a pleasure working with you, Landeskog,” he says, and walks Gabe out of his office.

Out of Bednar’s office, Gabe takes a breath—then turns to go back to his office. He’s won. It should feel like victory.

“What’s his deal?” he hears in a whisper as he passes by the open doors of the offices. “I thought grumpy was EJ’s deal, not Gabe’s.” _Grumpy blonde, smiley blonde, and big headed blonde, and then a smile that had made Gabe have to smile too._

“He’s going through some stuff,” Mikko whispers, utterly failing at staying quiet. Gabe keeps walking until he can’t hear it any more. Then he closes his door, let’s his head fall back.

This is what he wanted. This is him getting what he wanted, he should be feeling on top of the world right now, like he had when Bednar had first suggested it a week ago. But—he gets up, so he can pace—he just isn’t.

A knock on the door. Gabe opens it—EJ.

“So how was it?” EJ demands, dropping into the chair across from Gabe’s desk. “Did he give it to you?”

“Yeah. Well, he told me to come to the next partner meeting and have a number in mind, so—basically.”

EJ’s eyebrows go up. “You sound a lot less victorious about that than I’d expected,” he says skeptically.

Gabe shrugs. “I know, and I am happy—and proud—but—”

But he wants to tell Tyson. But it still feels like a loose tooth, wiggling in the back of his mouth, not ready to fall out but not settled either. “But I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel right.”

“Yeah I wonder why,” EJ drawls. Gabe scowls at him.

“It’s stupid. I’ve been working for this for ten years. I should feel better.” Gabe shakes his head. “I do feel good. This is—fuck. I’m going to be partner.”

“Yes you are!” EJ agrees, grinning. “Buy you a drink tonight as congratulations? Or many?”

“Stephen’s having a dinner party,” Gabe tells him, probably regretfully. Getting drunk sounds good. But—EJ looks at him like he knows something he’s not telling Gabe, these days; it makes him annoying to be around. Yes, Gabe gets that he knows that Gabe’s nursing his broken heart over here, but it doesn’t mean he needs to be so smug. “So sorry, I can’t.”

“Fair enough. Have fun.” EJ gets up, puts a hand on Gabe’s shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Go play with your horses,” Gabe tells him, and EJ laughs and leaves him to his work.

Gabe goes to Stephen’s party. It’s—fine. The people are interesting, smart, educated people, who make good, maybe even sparkling, conversation; the food is amazing, as always. Stephen himself is the same easy, level-headed man he always was, a tall, attractive black man with what Gabe had once thought was a killer smile; he’s single again and makes it clear that he would not be averse to Gabe staying after everyone else leaves.

Gabe should stay. He should. Tyson’s probably already hooking up with someone back at the resort—another guest, maybe, or Emma or someone else on the staff.

But—he spent most of dinner thinking about what Tyson would say to all of this. What he would do, if he was here. All the stupid, nonsensical, ridiculous things he would say, and how he would blush and charm everyone. God, if he had just—if he had just seen that Gabe was right, that he should have come with him—he could fit in here, Gabe didn’t know what he was talking about. Everyone would have loved him. Gabe would have—

So Gabe goes home alone, to his empty flat.

And then he goes to work. And then he comes home. He goes out with people from work, with friends. He goes home. And then he goes to work again. Like he’s always done.

///

It takes two weeks, but finally, there’s a knock on his door one evening, after Gabe had left work late.

“No, please, come in,” Gabe says, as EJ pushes past him, Mikko following with a halfway apologetic shrug. “Did we plan this?”

“No. This is an intervention,” EJ announces. He marches into the living room, then gives the couch a pointed look, like Gabe’s meant to sit down on it.

Like fuck Gabe is going to sit down on the couch to be what, lectured? He stays standing. “What are you intervening in?” he demands. “Everything’s been going well.”

“Well—you’ve been scaring people,” Mikko inserts.

“Scaring?” Gabe snaps.

“Because you’ve been sulking for three weeks now,” EJ tells him. “So—we are doing the post-break up getting trashed—” Mikko holds up what looks like a bottle of whiskey—“and then you are getting it together.”

“I haven’t been sulking.” Gabe doesn’t sulk after break-ups. He takes them calmly and reasonably.

“You’ve been sulking,” EJ repeats, like he—like he fucking knows.

“This is all your fault anyway!” Gabe snaps at him. God, isn’t he allowed a broken heart, at least? “You were the one who told me to go for it! Mikko was right, it was a stupid idea in the first place.”

“Excuse me for wanting to see my friend happy!” EJ retorts. Good. Gabe wants to rage at something, at someone.

“Do I look happy?”

“You did!” EJ throws up his hands. “Gabe, I have known you a long fucking time, and I have never seen you as happy as you were with—him. Maybe I made the wrong call and he was a dick who broke your heart, but—it was nice to see you in love for once, and I’m sticking with that.”  

“I’ve been in love before,” Gabe mutters, but—it’s hard to argue in the face of EJ’s justification. It makes sense, and Gabe is, unfortunately, usually a reasonable person.

EJ shakes his head. “Not like that. Not for real.”

Gabe’s next breath is shaky. Because—he knows. He hadn’t fallen like that since he was in college, maybe, head over heels for a girl and all in, and that had—that had ended like this one too. With Gabe all in and the girl just for now, and this was why Gabe had stayed safe, until Tyson had knocked all those safety precautions away with a smile.

“Well it sucks,” he tells them, and he does collapse onto the couch. Mikko perches on the arm of an armchair, and EJ takes a seat next to him.

“I know, bro.” EJ holds out a hand; Mikko hands him the bottle. “That’s what your good friend alcohol is for.” He makes a face. “I know you might have bad associations with it in this particular break-up, but that’s what you get for falling for a bartender.”  

“So I’m just supposed to drink it straight?” Gabe asks, and EJ nods, straight-faced. Gabe shrugs, and uncaps the top.

“Ugh, wait, I want some too.” Mikko hops up to go raid Gabe’s cabinets for cups, so Gabe sets the bottle back down in his lap to wait.

EJ leans over. “I am sorry,” he says again. “I thought—he seemed like a good guy.”

“He was. He is.” That’s the problem, of course—he’s irrational and stubborn and didn’t see why Gabe was _right_ , but he’s a good guy. A not good guy—he wouldn’t be paying off his dad’s debt. He wouldn’t be fighting for the place he loves. He wouldn’t love his friends so fiercely and absolutely. He wouldn’t—apparently, he would dump Gabe.

“Not if he pulls a move like this,” Mikko announces, sitting back down and passing out three snifters and putting three shot glasses on the table. “I wasn’t sure what we wanted, so I got both.”

“Let’s start with shots.” EJ takes the bottle back from Gabe, pours them each one. “To dickhead exes.”

“Skal,” Gabe agrees, and tosses back the shot. It’s not a bad whiskey, for breakup drinks.

“And he is a dickhead,” Mikko continues. “He should have understood you were just doing your job. You didn’t make the resort fail. You didn’t make him lose his job. You just said the hard truths, which is what you were hired to do, and if he’s too—”

“He did, though.” Gabe pours himself another shot. “He got that. He wasn’t mad—I mean, he was sad, but he understood.” Of course he did. Gabe throws back the shot.

EJ and Mikko look at each other.

“Then—why was it this bad?” EJ asks. “You were leaving so it had to be bad, but you fought, it wasn’t just a distance thing.”

Gabe laughs, if you could call it that. “Because I’m in love him and wanted to make it work, and he—he thought this was just for the summer. That it would end, because that was what these things do, according to all his _experience_.” He drawls the last words, dragging it out. He wonders, idly, how much it would cost to hire someone to go punch everyone who screwed Tyson over and made him think shit like that in the face.

“Sucks,” Mikko tells him, and pours himself some whiskey into the snifter. Gabe takes the bottle back and takes another shot.

“It’s a long distance, but it’s doable,” EJ agrees, pouring himself some into the glass as well. “We have plenty of work on the American west coast, you could be there plenty.”

“And you’re both loud enough that you’d probably be good at Skype sex,” Mikko adds. EJ gives him an incredulous look. Mikko shrugs. “What? It’s true.”

“But not helping,” EJ informs him. “Gabe, why don’t you slow down, bro?”

Gabe looks up from his—he doesn’t know what number shot this is. “I thought the point was to get me drunk?”

“To get you drunk, not to get alcohol poisoning.”

“I feel poisoned,” Gabe tells them. The shots are starting to set in, though, and he doesn’t fight EJ when he takes the whiskey and sets it on the opposite end of the coffee table from Gabe. He leans back on the couch, looks up at the ceiling “Like, in my heart.”

“If he starts writing bad poetry I’m leaving,” Mikko says, probably to EJ.

“I wonder how many shots gets him there,” EJ replies, sounding thoughtful. Gabe ignores both of them. His ceiling isn’t quite just white, it’s something a little off. He’d never noticed that before. He should spend more time looking at his ceiling. Maybe then he’d notice things. Like how he was falling when Tyson was treading water. Or floating? Flying?

“He wouldn’t come back with me,” Gabe says. His mouth feels heavy. He’s definitely not floating.

“He definitely came back with you to the suite.”

Gabe shakes his head. He feels hot. Maybe he should take his shirt off. “Here. To London. I wanted him to come here and he said no.”

“You…wanted him to come to London with you?” EJ asks slowly.

“It was the solution! Nate said I was going to hurt him and I figured out a way not to, and he—he didn’t want it.”

“What was he supposed to do in London?” Mikko asks.

Gabe lifts his head at that. Both EJ and Mikko are looking at him incredulously. Sort of like how Tyson had looked at him. “That’s what he said.”

“And what did you say?” Mikko prompts.

“That I didn’t know, that he could do nothing if he wanted to. If he’d just—be there. Be here.” Gabe gestures around the Tyson-less apartment. “Should I get a dog?”

“No.” EJ is looking very skeptical. “Wait, so—this break up is actually because you asked Tyson to be your sugar baby and he said no?”

“That’s not what I meant!” Gabe growls. “He said that too, I didn’t—why the fuck would you think that?”

“Because that’s what you were asking?” Mikko suggests, still looking shocked. “Gabe, that’s—how could you ask that of him?”

“Because I thought he loved me!” Gabe reaches for the whiskey again—EJ knocks his hands away.

“No, this whiskey is for people who don’t break up for stupid shit.”

Gabe glares, but—“I thought he loved me, and I thought he’d _want_ a solution that kept us together. I wanted—he carries so much and I wanted to help. I wanted to fix it.”

“Gabe—”

“But he—he doesn’t get it, he said I didn’t love him. _I_ don’t love _him_. That I didn’t know him.” Gabe has gone over the fight so many times, sleepless nights repeating it over and over again because apparently he lives to torture himself. “That it wasn’t real life. How could—of course I love him. Would it hurt like this if I didn’t? Would—ow!” he starts, then stares at EJ, who had just punched his arm, hard. “What the fuck?”

“You are a fucking idiot,” EJ tells him.

“Why? For loving him?”

“For—you asked him to come to London!”

“It was the solution!”

“It was your solution.” Mikko puts in thoughtfully. He’s a little flushed, and his glass is mostly empty. “Did you ask Tyson what he wanted?”

“He made it clear what he wanted,” Gabe mutters, and leans over EJ’s arms to get to the whiskey. He pours himself a glass this time. “He wanted—”

What had he wanted? He’d said what he didn’t get, what he wouldn’t get—Gabe, his restaurant, his dreams, anything, apparently. But he hadn’t said—he hadn’t actually said—

“I thought you were supposed to be on my side,” he says at last.

EJ pats his leg. “We’re your friends. That means telling you when you’ve been a dumbass.”

“You don’t have to be so happy about it,” Gabe mutters, but then they stay and start talking about work gossip until Gabe’s swaying, and then they help him to bed.

///

Somehow, Gabe manages to make it to work the next day, if a little late. He glares at both EJ and Mikko when he gets there, even if they can’t get the full force of it through his sunglasses, then goes to his office before a partner can see and shuts his office door. Why did he make his office so bright? Natural light is the worst.

There’s a knock on the door some time later, after Gabe has forced himself to answer a few emails and has definitely opened a file.

“Yeah?” he says, then clears his throat so it’s less of a croak. “Come in.”

Mikko lets himself in, then closes the door behind him. Because there is too much light in this damn office, Gabe can see that he looks hesitant. Mikko’s confidence has carried him through his first few years here, will take him far, so that hesitance even gets through Gabe’s hangover.

“I, um. Did something, you might not like, when we were packing up on the Island,” he says, slowly. He’s holding a manilla folder behind his back, shifting from foot to foot. “I thought you might want, once it wasn’t so fresh—as a souvenir, or to burn, or something.”

“Rants…” Gabe sighs. He is way too hungover for guessing games. “What?”

“Just—I saw these. And—here.” He drops the folder on Gabe’s desk, then steps back like he’s getting out of reach when Gabe opens the folder.

It’s a stack of scrap paper, is Gabe’s first thought, then—he recognizes the scrap paper, the receipts and napkins and bits of resort notepads, and the neat, cramped handwriting across the white space.

Gabe flips the folder closed. “What the hell?”

Mikko shrugs. “You’re sentimental. I thought you might want them, when you were less heartbroken.” He holds up his hands, takes another step back. “You can throw them away again. I just—” He swallows again, but there’s the confidence. “Maybe I was wrong too. You got the promotion anyway, and there was no scandal. But I agree with EJ. It was nice to see you happy from more than work.” His smile twists, a little rueful. “But if you’re going to be partner, you need to come up with better fixes than that one.”

He grabs the door handle and disappears faster than someone his size should be able to.

Gabe glares at the door until that gives him a headache, then he gives up on that. He thought he’d exorcised this last night, or as much as he could. It was done. It was—he would find a way to get over it.

But…he can’t help it, opening the folder. Looking through. Like he hadn’t been able to help it, looking at Tyson. _5 pm at the pool_ , and _loose pants unless you can rock climb in your usual pants_, and the first one, _wear something that doesn’t make you look like a suit_. Gabe’s smile hurts, but—it’s Tyson. Tyson whose personality shines through even these little notes, teasing and fond and ridiculous and sweet and—fuck, Gabe misses him. It’s been almost the amount of time they were technically dating, or whatever they were doing, and he misses him.

He never said what he wanted, Gabe remembers realizing last night. Tyson had never said. Never said he didn’t—

Gabe looks around the bright, neat, sharp office. This has been his life for years—finding solutions to problems. And if one doesn’t work—

Gabe wakes up his computer, and pulls up Google Flights.

///

“Don’t hang up on me.”

“Landeskog?” Nate’s voice is a little tinny over the phone, or maybe it’s the airport, Gabe doesn’t know. Either way, he doesn’t sound happy, which Gabe expected, but he didn’t hang up, which is more than Gabe hoped. “What the fuck? How did you get my number?”

“I, um. You were the contact for our pick up from the ferry, so I had it.” Gabe winces. That feels…admittedly, sort of sketchy. But that’s the whole point in all’s fair in love and war, isn’t it? “But, wait—before you hang up, I didn’t look for Tyson’s.”

“I don’t think that’s better.” Nate pauses, so the noise of the airport terminal fills in on Gabe’s side for a second before, “Why the fuck are you calling me anyway? Haven’t you done enough already?”

“That’s the problem. I, um. I need you to tell me where Tyson works now.” He’d already been on his way to the airport by the time he realized that the season was over and Tyson would be back in Victoria. “Or where he’ll be.”

“Why—are you in an airport?” Nate demands, as an announcement comes on over the loudspeaker.

“Yes.”

“Because you’re on a work trip,” Nate says, more like he wants it to be true than he expects it to be.

“Not exactly. Please, Nate. Where will Tyson be at—” Gabe does some quick calculations. “Tonight, probably? The flight doesn’t look like it’ll be delayed.”

“You’re seriously doing this? You’re flying to Victoria?”

“No, I’m going to Denver to find Tyson. Yes, Victoria.”

“But—” Gabe can hear Nate moving around, saying something to someone on the other end. “Why?”

“Why do you think?”

“Because you want a cross-continental booty call?” Nate suggests.

“What? No—”

“You’re the one who asked Tyson to be—”

“I didn’t! I—” Gabe takes a breath. “I was trying not to hurt him, Nate.”

“Well you didn’t do very well.”

“I know.” Gabe looks down at his hand. “I want to try again.”

Nate pauses again. Gabe looks around the terminal—there’s a family sitting in a corner, clearly camped out there. One of the little girls is asleep on her father’s lap, his hand in her dark curls; the other girl is asleep on the floor with her head propped up on the bag.  The parents look exhausted, but the mom still spares a smile for the dad when the girl in his lap shifts and elbows his thigh.

“You know, you did exactly what I told you not to,” Nate says at last. “I mean, I knew you would, but—you were just another one who flew in and out and left Tyson here and a mess. Except you also lost him his job.”

“That wasn’t my fault.”

“You still did it.” Nate’s voice is tight. “And you—you almost made me believe you cared about him, too. For real. And then you went and said—” 

“I didn’t mean it like that!” People need to stop interpreting it that way. “I was just trying—you know how shitty his dad is, how shitty all of it is, I wanted to get him away from it—”

“From his life, you mean?” Nate’s voice is tight. “If his life is so shitty, why should you care about him?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Gabe snaps back, because—it’s not. “Just, he carries a lot, and I wanted to help.”

“He doesn’t need your sort of help! He can do it on his own, or with us, he doesn’t need some—savior who’ll take him away from everyone—”

“So you aren’t going to tell me,” Gabe interrupts, before Nate can get on his high horse. That’s about as much as he’d expected, but he figured it was his best bet. He can get Mikko to look up Emma’s number next, she might know.

“No, I’m not. Because Tyson doesn’t need you in his life, we’ve been doing fine, and—”

Gabe will go find Emma, but first he needs to say this. “Shouldn’t Tyson get to decide that?” Gabe demands. He’s taken this for months, and he’s fucking sick of it.

“What?”

“Ever since I met Tyson you’ve been telling me what’s best for him.” Gabe looks around, lowers his voice. “That we shouldn’t hook up. That I shouldn’t ask about his dad. That I should stay away from him. But you don’t get to say that. Tyson does.”

“He doesn’t—”

“And,” Gabe rolls over him. “I don’t think it’s even always about Tyson. Are you mad because of what I said about Tyson, or because if he had gone to London he’d have left you behind? Because if I’m even in the picture he’d have someone who isn’t you?” It’s mean and Gabe can’t bring himself to care, because it’s true and Gabe can’t hold it back. He’d wanted Nate to like him, but if he won’t he’ll tell Nate what he fucking thinks of him.

“Fuck off, it’s not—I’ve been trying to protect him, because he sometimes gets carried away and does stupid—”

“What has he done that’s stupid?” Gabe demands. “From what I can see he’s been more responsible than anyone could expect, even when he could have made the bad choices. Except for maybe risking something sleeping with people he shouldn’t, which who the fuck cares. Someone who makes bad decisions doesn’t work however many jobs he works when his dad’s offering him easy money and they don’t think about the future like Tys does and they don’t make sure they’re budgeting to take care of everyone, including you, and they don’t—”

“You really do love him, don’t you?” Nate interrupts, but he sounds—quiet, somehow. Like the legs have been taken out from under him.

It takes Gabe a second—he’s not expecting that—but, “Yes.” That Gabe’s sure of. “You’re not the only one who—”

“He’ll be at the Hotel Rialto. The hotel bar.”

Gabe opens his mouth, closes it. “What?”

“That’s where Tyson will be working tonight.” Nate sounds like he’s moving again.

“Oh. Thank you,” Gabe grits out. Fuck Nate, still, but—he has an address.

“I don’t—it’s not any of that,” Nate says, still quietly. “Tyson—I was a stupid angry eighteen-year-old with a backpack and a lot of, like, bravado, and nothing more, and Tys just—he taught me how to do…all of this. He got me talking to my parents again. He—I don’t know where I’d be, without him. I just want to do the same for him.”

Gabe takes a breath, tries to will his anger down. “I get that,” he says, because he does. “But that’s what I want too. To make sure he’s happy.”

Nate’s voice hardens again. “You better.” 

“Noted.” The family across the way is moving—the dad’s shaking his daughter awake, and she smiles sleepily up at him. “I really don’t want to hurt him any more.”

“Then don’t,” Nate warns him. “Good-bye, Landeskog. If you fuck up this time, I’m actually going to punch you.”

“Bye.” Gabe hangs up. Then he opens Google Maps, to look at the blinking blue dot where apparently Tyson will be—halfway across the world, but. He’s there. 

///

Gabe makes it to the hotel in something like thirteen hours, which could be worse, he guesses. He spent the plane ride sleeping and trying to handle the fact that he’s fucked off from work five days before he’s supposed to be made partner, but Bednar must be in a good mood because he took the ‘personal days but I’ll be on email’ excuse, and EJ’s apparently running some sort of major interference. He also has to spend a good half hour on the phone with Bea, who needs to be caught up, to yell at Gabe, and then to hype him up and tell him he can do this.

He’s riding on that as he walks into the bar. He’d stopped in the airport bathroom to make sure he doesn’t look awful, but there’s only so much he can do to not look like he’s been travelling for over half a day, but—whatever. He’s not waiting.

The bar’s low-lit, a funky sort of blue and weird flower-like chandeliers reflecting off of the white marble bartop and the glass of the bottles. It’s almost empty—almost closing, because of how long it took Gabe to get here—and so it’s just a few men in suits lingering at a booth and what looks like a couple at the far end of the bar.

And—futzing with a few glasses in the middle of the bar, is Tyson.

Gabe stares, for a second. It’s only been a few weeks, all told, but—he’d somehow forgotten, how his hair curled over his forehead, the line of his ears. The white button-down uniform here is better for him than the black polos, Gabe thinks. Maybe especially because of how it gapes open just a bit at the neck.

Then Tyson looks up, and Gabe sees him see Gabe—sees the way his brow furrows, how his head tilts in disbelief.

“Gabe?” he asks, in voice strangled. But it—fuck, it’s Tyson’s voice.

“You never said you didn’t love me.” Gabe lets go of his overnight bag so he can walk to the bar.

“I—what? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in London? Do you—if you have a job here and you happened to stay in this hotel then I am lodging a complaint with like, the universe, because that’s just too much.”

Gabe’s smiling, as usual—Tyson’s babble feels familiar. “No. No job.” He really wishes the bar wasn’t here, between them. Maybe he should have timed this better. “For you.”

“For—”

“You said a lot when we last—when we fought. But you never said you weren’t in love with me too.”

“Gabe, I—” Tyson glances around. No one’s watching them—both parties are caught up in themselves. “What do you want me to say? Did you honestly cross an ocean and a continent just to like, rub it in?”

“No. I came to tell you you’re wrong.”

Tyson rolls his eyes. “Of course you did. Only you could be—”

“I do love you.” Tyson shuts up. Gabe thought he might. “Even here, in the real world. Even after a month in London. I know you and I love you.”

Tyson’s lips twist painfully. “Okay, sure. I’m sure you do. You spent all that time with your London friends and you still want me, sure.”

“I do.” Gabe smiles at Tyson until he blinks, clearly confused.

“You do?” He shakes his head. “I mean, it doesn’t mean—Gabe, that doesn’t change anything. You live in London, with your fancy job and all that, and I’m—here. Still. And I’m not moving to London,” He says, before Gabe can say anything. “That was a bad idea when you said it and it’s still a bad idea now. I’m not—”

“I know.” Gabe still thinks it wasn’t as bad an idea as everyone seems to hold it out to be, but, whatever. He can tell when he’s outvoted. “So I can come here.”

“What? You can’t just like, quit your job—”

“Not quit. I’m going to be made partner in—four days. That gives me leverage. And we do a lot of business out on the west coast, enough that it makes sense to have a partner out here. I’d still have to travel a lot, and go to London a fair amount, but—”

“Tyson,” someone says, and Gabe turns. There’s a big man behind Tyson, as tall as Gabe and maybe a bit broader. “Is this guy bothering you?”

“No, Bennie, it’s fine.” Gabe narrows his eyes at the guy—Bennie. At the easy way Tyson puts a hand on his bicep. Did he miss his chance—maybe he was wrong— “Actually,” Tyson goes on, “Can you take over for me for like, ten minutes?”

“Sure.” The guy crosses his arms and glares at Gabe suspiciously. “Yell if you need anything.”

Tyson rolls his eyes. “Gabe, are you planning on kidnapping me if we go into a hallway to talk?”

“No?”

“Good, there. Happy?” he asks Bennie, who doesn’t look entirely satisfied but doesn’t complain when Tyson tugs a dishrag off his shoulder and then comes out from behind the bar, heading towards what looks like a back hallway. It’s definitely less flashy then the rest of the hotel, and deserted.

“Okay,” Tyson says, when they get far enough away from the main room that he’s apparently satisfied “What were you saying?”

“Am I—” It’s not what Gabe was saying, but he has to know. “Unless, I’m wrong, and you’ve moved on, I’ll go—”

“What, Bennie? No, he’s a friend, he got me this job.” Tyson’s fingers are drumming against his thighs. “Also, so what if I had? You’re the one who wouldn’t even talk to me when you left.”

“I know. And I—”

“Was being a drama queen, yeah, no duh.”

“Was wrong,” Gabe corrects, trying to be pointed. “Not—anyway. I was saying.” He pauses for a second to gather his thoughts. It was supposed to be easier than this, somehow. He was supposed to rush in and sweep Tyson off his feet. Not get interrupted by large British Columbians and have Tyson watching him with that skeptical, half-mocking gaze. “I have leverage, and there’s a reason to have a partner on the West Coast, so no one would have to live here for months like we did. I could convince them of that, or at least to try it for like, six months. That I should be here.”

“Be here?”

“Be here,” Gabe confirms. Tyson’s staring at him, big-eyed and almost confused, like something isn’t computing. “I wanted you to come with me, but you can’t do that, so I’ll come to you. If you want me to.”

“Gabe, that’s—” Tyson sways forward, then back. “You’d do that? For me?”

“Yes.” Gabe has to be closer, now—he won’t touch if Tyson doesn’t want him to, but it feels impossible that they’re this far apart. “I would.”

“But—why?” Tyson blinks up at him, a furrow between his brows. Gabe really wishes he were allowed to smooth it out, to tease him into smiling again. “What do you want from me? I can’t—you have a life in London, and I can’t give it to you here, and you don’t—”

“I don’t want anything _from_ you,” Gabe interrupts. “I just want to be with you.”

Tyson still is looking like that doesn’t compute. “It doesn’t fix the basic problem. I can’t afford your life, and you think mine is shitty.”

“So we compromise.”

“I’m not taking your money.” That Tyson looks sure of. “I—god, when you said that, all I could think was that my dad would be so proud of me for that.”

“Fuck him.”

“Gabe—”

“No, fuck him,” Gabe says again. “I know he’s your dad, but still, fuck him.”

 "Kinky."

Despite everything, Gabe snorts. Tyson’s lips twitch. “But really, fine, he would want you to live off my money. But you won’t. So that’s fine.”

“I think in an ideal world he’d like me to black widow you, but I haven’t actually asked. I don’t want to know.”

“Then I’m very glad you’re not your dad.” Tyson lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “So you don’t take my money, and—”

“And what, you’ll introduce me to your work friends? I don’t even own a suit.”

“My work friends will love you. EJ and Mikko already do.” Well, they will when Gabe totally clears them up on what happened, but that’s close enough. “And for the suit thing—I don’t actually always wear a suit. If it comes up, we’ll cross that bridge.”

“The actual suit isn’t the point, it’s that—” He cuts off. Gabe waits a second, then,

“What’s the point?” When Tyson doesn’t answer, he prompts again. “What’s the point, Tyson? Last time I just talked about what I wanted, so—what do you want? Let me try to give it to you. Do you want me to come here? Do you want me to go back to London and never talk to you again?” God, he hopes it’s not that. “Whatever you want, I can—I’ll make that happen.”  

Tyson swallows. “I don’t—I don’t want your money.”

“I know that, that’s not what I meant.” Gabe resists the urge to roll his eyes. Why is Tyson so fucking stubborn? “What would make you happy? Because I would like to try to be part of it, if I can.”

“But why!” Tyson demands again, and slices his hand through the air. “I don’t—I’m just some guy you hooked up with for a few weeks while you were on vacation. I’m a summer fling before you go back to your real life and remember that I’m not your usual type. Why are you so—why did you come back?”

Gabe is definitely going to hire that person to punch all of Tyson’s exes.  “Because I’m in love with you. I am,” he says, before Tyson can object again. “Even Nate said so. Look, here we are in the real world, and—I’m still in love with you.”

“You still don’t know me,” Tyson insists, his hands waving again, and it’s more out of self-defense than anything that Gabe catches them, but once he does Tyson goes still, but he doesn’t shake Gabe off.

“I do know you. I know that you are funny, and hardworking, and loyal.” Gabe meets Tyson’s gaze steadily as he says it, so Tyson can’t believe he’s lying. “I know you always make me smile. I know your friends are all incredibly devoted to you, and you’re devoted to them in return. I know that you were willing to lose all your free time to save a place you loved. I know that you claim you’ll never get your dream but you still work for it, work to find a place where everyone feels welcome. I know that you have the worst taste in music—”

“Hey!”

“And the trashiest taste in clothes—”

“Hey!”

“And I am still horribly into you when you wear them.” Gabe sighs at that, but he can’t pretend he’s not smiling a little, at the blushing, half-offended face Tyson’s making. “I might not know you perfectly but I know you pretty well, Tyson. And I know what I want, from us, even if it’s hard.” He makes sure to keep his grip on Tyson very loose, so he could pull away; he looks down at him, trying to show all his vulnerability, how much he means this. How much he wants this. “What do you want, Tyson?”

For a long moment, Tyson just looks at him, like he’s thinking. Then, “You definitely made a powerpoint of that, didn’t you?”

Gabe’s laugh is more of shock than anything. “That’s your answer? Seriously?”

Tyson’s face goes serious again. “It’s not—it’s going to suck, a lot, Gabe. Like, I still think you’re being naïve about this. About how little I’m going to fit in and how annoyed you’re going to be when I won’t do things because of the cost.”

“And I think you’re being pessimistic,” Gabe tells him, but he knows he’s starting to beam. “So you—you want this?”

“It’s not—the wanting’s never been the issue.” Tyson’s gaze seems focused pretty resolutely over Gabe’s shoulder. “It’s the being able to have thing that trips me up. Or the, like. Other people wanting it too.”

“So…”

“Fine, yes. I love you too,” Tyson mutters, sounding a little begrudging about it. “I want you to come here, or whatever your insane plan is.” Gabe laughs, loud enough it echoes.

“I gave a whole speech, and you just do that? Not starting off the boyfriend thing very well, are you?” Gabe teases, and Tyson makes a face at him and huffs out a put upon breath.

“Fine. You are a complete know it all, annoyingly pushy, irritatingly, unfairly hot, pretty mean sometimes, honestly, and you have horrible taste in music—”

“Hey!”

“And your pants are way too tight for my sanity, and you listen to all my bullshit and you’re still here and you believe in my dreams and you tried to do the right thing with Rumble Mountain and when you couldn’t you still did that right and your hair is really insane, like, how is that even possible, and if you don’t kiss me right now I’m just going to keep listing things, so—”

Gabe kisses him. Tyson makes a surprised noise into his mouth for a second, then his hands flail out and he breaks Gabe’s hold at his wrist to grab at Gabe’s shoulders to tug him closer, like he agrees that any part of them that isn’t touching is a waste of a body part. It’s only been a month since they last did this, but somehow it’s still a surprise that he kisses the same, that it’s still so hot and so easy to come together like this.

“Okay,” Tyson says, when they finally break apart. Gabe keeps his hands on Tyson’s face, running his thumbs over the skin at Tyson’s temples. “But seriously, you did make slides, right?”

“Well going in blind last time didn’t work,” Gabe protests—there may be some slides of notes saved on his computer, and Tyson drops his head into Gabe’s chest and starts laughing. Gabe would probably be more annoyed if he hadn’t missed Tyson’s bullshit so much.

Instead, he tilts Tyson’s face up so he can kiss the laughter out of his mouth.

///

Gabe opens the door to the apartment with a sigh of relief. “Hey, I’m—”

Nails click on the hardwood, and Gabe slams the door closed before he drops to his knees in time for a brown and white blur to slam into him. “Hey, girl,” he coos, as Zoey licks excitedly at his face. “How’s my baby? Yes, did you miss me? Did you miss your daddy?” She barks in his ear, and he laughs, ruffling her fur.

“I see where I rank in this apartment,” Tyson drawls, and Gabe looks up to see Tyson leaning against the wall, barefoot in just his sweatpants and one of Gabe’s old university t-shirts, his arms crossed and his lips pursed like that’ll hide how he’s about to grin.

Gabe doesn’t bother hiding his smile. “My girl is my girl,” he agrees, and gives Zoey another head pet. “Aren’t you, baby? Were you good for Tyson?” She barks again. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“No, she was a nightmare,” Tyson lies. “The worst dog ever. Definitely the one who ate all the ice cream in your fridge.”

“Aw, is Tyson a liar?” Gabe asks Zoey. “Is Tyson trying to pin things on you and pretend that he’s not stealing my food?”

“Hey, you said I could crash here as payment for dogsitting. That includes food.”

Gabe does look up at that. “You know you can stay here whenever you want. Dogsitting or no. Although, if you are here, it would be nice if you walked Zoey.”

“Yes, you’ve said.” Tyson rolls his eyes. Gabe really doesn’t want to start their long running argument—Tyson’s term—slash campaign—Gabe’s term—to get Tyson to move in with him, not right now. So instead of pushing it—of telling Tyson that of course he can always be here, he should always stay here—he stands up, telling Zoey to sit when she tries to jump, and walks over to where Tyson’s standing.

“If you start baby talking me I’m finally going to let Nate punch you,” Tyson warns, his hands sliding up Gabe’s chest. Gabe catches them, so he can press a kiss to Tyson’s wrists.

“Nate wouldn’t punch me anymore. We’re cool.” Well, cool might be an overstatement, but they’ve reached a solid détente where they both agree that as long as Tyson is happy, they’re okay. Gabe is pretty optimistic they’re even heading, slowly, towards friend territory. Apparently Nate’s a pretty cool guy when he’s not being overprotective of his best friend.

“That’s what you think.” Tyson sniffs. “Really he’s just been waiting to punch you in your pretty face.”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?” Gabe asks.

“Nope. Ugly as the devil.”

“Uh-huh,” Gabe says agreeably, then finally leans down to kiss him. Even after six odd months of doing this, it’s amazing, how much longer the times away feel, when he knows he has this waiting for him; it’s also amazing, how much better coming home feels. Kissing Tyson still feels like—even casual like this, not with the real sort of intent to go into the bedroom, it still feels like being on that cliff in the summer sun, light all around them.

Tyson seems to agree, if the way he sighs into the kiss is any indication. “You missed me,” he says, when it’s done. He always sounds a little surprised when he says it, but Gabe’s hoping it’s getting less so.

“I did. Did you?”

“I mean, I saw you on facetime yesterday, so—” Tyson must see something in Gabe’s face, and his smile goes softer. “Yeah. I did.”

“Good.” Gabe pauses, tilts his head. “Did you cook?”

“You know I’m only dating you for your kitchen,” Tyson tells him, and Gabe steals one more kiss before he wanders into the kitchen. He surveys the surfeit of food there—he can smell something in the oven and there are roast vegetables all over the tables.

“Feeding an army?”

“I thought I’d bring leftovers home tomorrow.”

Gabe lets out a breath. Tyson shrugs. “Mom wanted to see me. And dad—it’s been a while.” He pauses, then adds. “You don’t have to come.”

“Of course I’ll come,” Gabe decides. He doesn’t love going home with Tyson—it’s still an effort to be polite to his dad, especially given how over the top he pours his charm on with Gabe, how he talks to Gabe like he is Tyson’s sugar daddy—how he always hints at things Tyson needs, things that, Tyson once pointed out with a sigh, are all things that could be pawned easily. But. He’s not leaving Tyson alone with that either. “So. How was work?”

“It was work.”

“And the drama with Michelle?”

“Oh, well.” Tyson starts up his story about his co-workers’ dramatics as Gabe serves them both dinner. Tyson’s a horrible storyteller, honestly—he gets caught up in tangents and he definitely embellishes—but Gabe’s happy to listen to him wave his fork around the island they’re eating at and chatter, Zoey sitting at his feet because she’s a clever, opportunistic girl.

“So, how was your trip?” Tyson asks, when that’s done. “How was London?”

“It was good. EJ says hi. So does Colin—how do you even know him?”

“I’m a man of mystery, Gabriel, you should know that by now.” Gabe raises his eyebrows. “EJ put me on speaker once when you were busy.”

“There we go.” Gabe looks down at his plate. “You know, next time I go—you could go, meet him in person.”

“Gabe, we’ve talked about this. And,” Tyson goes on, before Gabe can protest, “My birthday isn’t coming up and you already used your Christmas present on my watch.”

“I know.” He’s been very good about their gifts only on appropriate days policy, if he does say so himself. “But—Tys. I want to show you where I lived. And, I was thinking. If you were with me. We could stop in Stockholm, for a few days, if you wanted.”

Tyson’s face does a lot of complicated things, fast. “You want to introduce me to your family?”

“You say that like you don’t text Bea more than me.”

“Well someone needs to sympathize with me about you,” Tyson retorts, but he’s still looking a little nervous. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. I mean.” Gabe sets down his fork. “I met with the partners when I was there. It’s been six months.”

Tyson goes still. “And?”

“And,” Gabe goes on, trying to keep his face straight. “They’ve approved me to stay. They think it’s been working.”

Tyson’s face—lights up. “What? you didn’t lead with that?” he demands, and then somehow he’s thrown himself off his stool and into Gabe’s lap. He punches Gabe’s arm, hard, but before Gabe can demand why he’s kissing Gabe hard.

He stares at Gabe when they separate, something incredulous still in his gaze. “You’re staying?”

“I’m staying,” Gabe agrees. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Yeah, no kidding, you’d just fly across the world again to have another big dramatic gesture. This time it would probably be in the rain.”

“I’m flattered you think I can control the weather,” Gabe retorts, then, when Tyson ducks his head, he smiles. “Hey. I would, you know.” He knows Tyson does know that, but he feels like it’s worth repeating. That Gabe’s going to fight for him—for them. That Tyson doesn’t have to carry this alone.

“I know.” Tyson turns his head into Gabe’s palm for a moment, carelessly sweet in a way he usually only is in bed. Then Gabe can feel him grin. “And you’re staying in bed. Come on, let’s go, time for welcome home sex.” He hops off of Gabe’s lap.

“What a romantic way to proposition me,” Gabe drawls, but he’s already standing up. “What about the dishes?”

“Now who’s being romantic? We’ll do them later. Come on, bed, now,” Tyson demands, and grabs Gabe’s wrist to pull him up the stairs with a laugh. 

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Want to talk about it? Comment or come chat on tumblr at [ fanforthefics!](http://fanforthefics.tumblr.com/)


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